An Upstart Inheritance
by WillieHewes
Summary: How can honour your Lord when his murderer remains alive? she shrieked. How can you be loyal to him if you serve his enemy? Raziel merely followed his nature to be all he could be, it was Kain's wounded pride that damned him!
1. Bad Tidings

AN UPSTART INHERITANCE I BAD TIDINGS  
  
Three men held watch at the gate. Although, this day, it was not their duty that was first on their minds.   
  
"Wow. Wings."   
  
"Damon," another said wearily, "we've been through this. Raziel does not have wings."   
  
"He does, We've seen them! Don't you two have eyes in your head?" Damon said, wildly pointing his claws at his own. "You said yourself you saw wings on his back."   
  
"We said he had something on his back, I'm sure they were not wings. Arvin, will you tell him?"   
  
Arvin sighed. "Damon, you're not being rational. Raziel can't have wings, because Kain doesn't have wings. I don't know what it was he had on his back, but I'm sure there's an explanation." They stared at the road, awaiting the explanation. Their Lord had been gone a good hour now.   
  
"How do you know Kain doesn't have wings? Have you seen him recently?" Damon pressed.   
  
"Yes!" Arvin exclaimed, exasperated. "He was at Melchiah's, you were there! Maybe I wasn't paying attention or something, but I saw no wings there!"   
  
"That was over a year ago, though," Damon said, untiring. "He might have grown them since then." Arvin was silent. "He might have! Admit it!"   
  
"No, Damon," Arvin answered, "because if Kain had wings, I rather think he'd have let us know by now."   
  
"Oh yeah, he'd come and tell you personally, Arvin," Cowin said sarcastically.   
  
"You damned right he would," Arvin said, grinning widely. "We're best mates, Kain and me." They all laughed. "I told him just the other night, 'You know, Kain, red really doesn't suit your complexion.'"   
  
Cowin growled. "Kain, why am I stuck with these fledglings?" he asked the sky, inducing more laughter.   
  
"You know Damon, you're brother's got real uppity since he -- Who's that?"   
  
They followed Arvin's gaze down the road. A stocky figure was walking in their direction unhurriedly. They squinted their eyes to see who it was.   
  
"It's a Melchahim, he's wearing yellow," Arvin said, surprised.   
  
"That's no Melchahim," Cowin answered, quietly, "that's... Melchiah."   
  
Melchiah walked slowly, his head bowed. When he had neared them enough, Cowin bowed to him.   
  
"Lord Melchiah."   
  
Melchiah looked up at him, his mouth drawn, his eyes spelling out a litany of grief. His face looked bloodstained, had he been crying? He was wearing his ceremonial armour, had clearly just come from the council that their Lord had called. But where was Raziel?   
  
"Take me to Konrad," Melchiah said, his voice broken and hoarse.   
  
Cowin glanced at Arvin. "Konrad is dead, my Lord. He was murdered last year."   
  
This seemed almost to break Melchiah's barely maintained composure. "Well, who succeeded him?" he asked. "Who leads you when Raziel -- " A strange choke replaced the last words, and Melchiah looked at the ground for a moment, clenching a fist.   
  
"Er, Harald?" Damon suggested.   
  
"No, Rusanna," Arvin said. Cowin was quiet. Something, he realised, was very wrong. "Maybe even Axel," Arvin offered.   
  
Damon shook his head. "No, sooner Marius than Axel..."   
  
"Listen!" Melchiah cried, "Raziel is dead!"   
  
There was a moment of complete silence. Damon broke into a little, disbelieving laugh.   
  
"No," Arvin whispered, and soon recovered his voice: "No! You lie!" he shouted. Cowin shook his head in silence.   
  
"Kain..." Melchiah started, his voice ragged. "Raziel called the council to show us his new gift. Wings. But Kain... he couldn't bear it: to see him, so proud... In a jealous rage, he tore them from his back and cast him into the lake of the dead." Tears were flowing freely down his cheeks now. He challenged Arvin. "Look into my eyes and tell me that I lie!"   
  
He bowed his head again, and the only sound for a while was the wind rushing around the walls of Darstein.   
  
"Look," Melchiah said finally, "I have my own clan to care for. Tell whoever you think should be in charge." With that, he turned and walked away again, turning west when the road split. The three guards watched him go until he was only a tiny figure in a vast, uncaring landscape of rocks, dust and stunted trees.   
  
Cowin tried to speak, but the words were stuck. He cleared his throat. "Hold your posts," he said, voicelessly, and went into the keep.

* * *

Author's Notes: Well, this is it, we all knew it would come to this. I will have to kill all of Raziel's children, and I will do so in style. The angst! The horror! I have some ten chapters of this planned, and hope my faith (or fear) will sustain me long enough to finish them all. If you read, drop a line please, I'd like to know what you think. I'll be posting the chapters as I write them. This one's fairly short. The next one will be huge, so it might be a while. Thanks for reading! 


	2. The Clan

AN UPSTART INHERITANCE: II--THE CLAN   
  
The courtyard had never been so crowded. Harald realised fully for the first time how his clan had outgrown their home of late. They were stood shoulder to shoulder from the gate up to the steps, and more were clumped together in the raised alcoves surrounding the yard. For the first half of the night, the castle had been eerily peaceful; only he and a handful of others had known. It seemed almost absurd to him that the castle still stood, that his kinsmen still laughed and argued as if nothing had happened, as if the foundations beneath their existence had not just been swept away, as if the world was as it should be. But Raziel was dead, and the world would never be as it should be again, not for them, not for the Razelim.   
  
Then the regiment returned from Rahab's keep in a panic, seeking confirmation of the sickening message they had been sent home with. Soon, the rumour spread, and the entire keep was in uproar. Now they were all collected here, all of the Razelim in castle Darstein, arguing, speculating, panicking. They all looked to him to explain. He was stood on the short platform between the crowd and the high dais from which Raziel would address his people. Behind him, on the first step, were the other captains; Marius, Cermak and Anders, as well as Raziel's steward Rusanna and Axel, his bodyguard. The issue of succession was far from decided, but for now, they had agreed, the most important thing was to keep the clan together. At a time like this, there could be no dissonance. Harald commanded the greatest number of men, he would address them.   
  
His eyes swept the crowd, the doubtful, panicked faces. He knew how they wished him to deny it, deny that the impossible had happened, that after ruling them for a thousand years, Raziel was gone. In the corner of his eye he noticed a small figure climbing up the side of the higher stage. It was Raziel's serving girl, but a few decades old. She had a habit of kneeling just in front of the Master when he addressed the clan, and with a quick glance behind him he knew that that was exactly what she was doing now, kneeling in the middle of the dais as if he was still there. The sight pained him. Her presence there accentuated his absence, and spelled out bright and clear the message Harald was burdened with. He decided to tolerate her; there were more important things at hand now than proper decorum.   
  
He raised his hands and called out over the din, "Clan Raziel!" The noise died down only very slowly.   
  
A shrill voice cried, "Where is Raziel?"   
  
"Be still and I will tell you all," he shouted, and waited, for minutes, until they were quiet. "Today," he began, his voice loud and strong, his pain buried deep in his heart where it could not interfere with his duty, "Lord Raziel called the council together, to show them his latest gift. He had grown wings, as some of you know. Not by the grace of Kain, but by his own will, and Lord Kain did not look kindly on this impertinence." He felt sickened. Not twelve hours ago this took place, and already he was turning it into a myth. So they'll understand, he told himself. Myth is what they know, especially when it comes to Kain. "Kain took away the gift Raziel had granted himself, and punished him for his transgression. He was cast into the Lake of the Dead to burn an eternity in the abyss. May he find oblivion in the end." He paused. His throat felt raw, the story seemed unreal, hopelessly inadequate. But how else to express the unimaginable? His sergeant Sophia was in the first row, her hands folded, her face tear-streaked. Their eyes met briefly. She nodded, needlessly.   
  
"We will honour our Lord as he would expect us to. We will mourn him together, and we will keep his memory forever. With him or without him, we are still clan Raziel. Still we owe fealty to Kain, still we owe loyalty to each other." He spread his arms to include the five stood behind him. "The times ahead will be hard, but we will endure, for his sake. We, your elders ..."   
  
"-- Cowards!"   
  
The quiet humdrum of whispered comments broke into a storm, and Harald's eyes swept the crowd, looking for the one that had spoken. Only when Sophia nodded did he realise the sound had come from behind him. The girl stood, small and alone, on the high stage, her delicate fists clenched at her sides, her pretty face bloodstained and twisted into an angry grimace.   
  
"How can honour your Lord when his murderer remains alive?" she shrieked, pointing a claw at Harald. "How can you be loyal to him if you serve his enemy? There was no transgression, Raziel merely followed his nature to be all he could be, it was Kain's wounded pride that damned him!" Her normally soft and pleasant voice now echoed like a broken and bloodied bird over the crowded yard. Harald hissed at her but nothing could shut her up. "Raziel's soul will not be able to rest until this crime is avenged, and neither will any of us!" Her tone turned pleading and she looked at Harald. "We _must_ take vengeance, we have no choice!" She clenched her fists again and screamed, "And what kind of men are you that you need a girl to point this out to you?" She looked out over the crowd, her eyes gleaming in the darkness. There was neither excuse nor confirmation. The courtyard was silent but for the soft howling of the wind and the occasional pop of a flag being pulled taut.   
  
Finally, her anger appeared to be spent. Her shoulders slumped and she hid her face in her hands. Harald turned around to address the silent crowd when he felt a hand on his arm. It was Marius, who looked up at him with a look that said, allow me.   
  
"Adoile," Marius said, "all of you, listen to me. I know your anger, and I know your pain. Unbearable as it is, there can be no compensation for Raziel's death." He turned to Adoile. "There _can_ be no vengeance. Believe me, this pains me as much as any of you, but Kain is still our Lord and Master, our Father. How can we turn against the one who breathes life into us all? No one will deny that it is a terrible thing not to avenge our Lord. But how much worse will the burden of our guilt be, if we attacked the father of all our kind? What can we achieve..."   
  
Axel had started to walk up the steps in his slow, deliberate manner. To put the girl in her place, Marius wondered. He continued, "If we take our 'vengeance' out on Him, what can we achieve but the downfall of our own race? Axel?"   
  
Axel stood squarely behind the girl, his face impassive, his hands on her shoulders. Adoile stared wide-eyed at Harald, reminding him more than anything of a wet and frightened cat. Harald ground his teeth together.   
  
"Axel, we all know loyalty is more important to you than life," he said, anger creeping into his voice, "but how is destroying yourself going to help him, or any of us?" He heard a whispered curse besides him, and turned to look.   
  
Marius was staring fixedly at a point in the crowd, shaking his head slowly. Gareth, his deputy, obeyed the command and held Cas firmly by the arm. No, Cas, Marius whispered as a minor struggle ensued. No man of his would join this madness. But something white was already working its way through the crowd. "Kainsken!" he hissed as the young vampire hopped onto the stage. He took his place in the centre, next to Axel, fearlessly meeting his captain's eye. "Get back," Marius commanded, quietly. Kainsken shook his head.   
  
"Axel this is madness!" Cermak called from behind him. "Do you really think you and these two _girls_ stand a chance against the Lord of Nosgoth? You will destroy us all!"   
  
"It doesn't matter if we stand a chance," Kainsken answered. "I will put my blade against the Soul Reaver on my own if I have to! We were sworn to follow him, to fight for him, to die for him. And I for one am ready to! His enemy is our enemy." His mouth twisted into an accusing snarl as he added, "-- is your enemy!"   
  
Axel took his right hand from Adoile's shoulder and put it on Kainsken's. _And that's how it is._ Harald looked at the crowd, trying to gauge their reactions. There were certainly others, he knew that. But not many; self-destruction was not a natural impulse for vampires, even in this dire a situation. He glanced at his peers. Marius was still engaged in a staring match with his fledgling soldiers, Cermak stared straight ahead and Rusanna returned his look with a little nod. Anders looked up at Axel. No, not at Axel. Past Axel, at the mansized carving of the clan symbol on the back wall. There would not be many.   
  
"Is there anyone else who wishes to destroy himself?" Harald thundered. "Is there anyone else who wishes to turn traitor against our Lord and Father? Anyone who wishes to join these madmen?" If they wanted to, they'd go anyway, he couldn't stop them. If he forced them to decide now, at least he knew he could count on the ones that remained. He waited, and hoped.   
  
At first it seemed it would just be these three. But Cas, Marius' man, had wrestled himself free from his superior, and walked, head held high, up to the steps. Marius looked away as he passed. More followed, young and old, their faces defiant, downcast or simply determined. Anders saw Hengest and Horsa weave their way through the crowd, following each other blindly, as always. A proud little smile passed over his lips. He would have gone, he told himself, but if he went his men would follow, and they could not afford to lose so many. The clan was more important even than vengeance. He patted Hengest on the shoulder as they passed, and they both gave him the same, sad smile. He'd miss them.   
  
Cermak growled as a third man from his company passed them on his way to Axel's side. Loyal, yes. Loyal idiots. How could people who understood so little be allowed to do so much? But he knew better than to challenge Harald now. He was content to thank the stars that this was all. Some ten men, most of them young ones. They didn't have a chance.   
  
Harald regarded them coldly; he recognised some faces, but not many. His youngest son numbered among them, he realised, and the sight of him shook his resolve. He knew very well what he ought to do, but he also knew that he could not. These were traitors to Lord Kain, and to the clan: their petty vengence might endanger all of them. He ought to give the order to kill them all, but he knew very well that that order would not be followed. His order would not be enough to turn brother against brother, and although there were not many that would follow Axel's in his march into hell, there was a large group that supported his cause. Of course there was. Even Harald was not deaf to the call of retribution; it stirred the strings of his heart, but he knew it could not be answered. Not by him. But these could carry it out, for all of them. There was no need to split the clan down the middle.   
  
He ascended the steps up to the dais, and circled around Axel, who stood stoically staring out over the crowd. Harald put his claws on the two points where Axel's red cape was fastened to his armour, and tore it loose with a single gesture. He draped the fabric over his arm. "Clan Raziel remains faithful to Lord Kain," he declared. "You are traitors, and will no longer be counted among us." He held out his arm, and it was filled slowly with red capes and tunics, as the men stripped off their clan markings.   
  
"We're keeping our swords," a low voice said behind him. Jules. A son of Lucas, and over five hundred years old. Harald didn't argue the point; he turned back to the crowd.   
  
"Be gone," he called out. "Leave here and do not return. Henceforth, you will be looked on as our enemy."   
  
A slight drizzle of rain started up as the crowd pressed itself even closer together to form a corridor out to the gate. Axel walked without haste, his ragtag little band in his wake. "Goodbye, Arvin," Harald said softly as his son passed him on the steps.   
  
"Goodbye father," Arvin answered. As they descended the steps out of the keep, the rain began to fall steadily. Axel continued, slightly faster, as the dust on the road turned into a grey sludge. Adoile walked close behind, bent over and hugging her arms to her chest. Kainsken walked with his head held high, the rain would sting anyway. Behind them, he heard the gate grind closed, and he looked back on what was no longer his home. It somehow seemed darker now, Raziel's name sign on the gate was like a bleak omen. The two colossi, Raziel on one side of the gate, Kain on the other, looked down on them impassively as they left, side by side, still, in stone. He turned away and hurried to the fore.   
  
"Axel? Where are we going?"   
  
Axel waved a hand. West. As good as any other place. Kainsken's hair was getting wet, but he didn't mind the pain so much. It drowned out the pain on the inside, for all that was lost, for all that would never be again, for what they had to do. The road turned into a mud pool under their feet, and they trudged on blindly, without hope or consolation, cast out.. 


	3. A Chance

AN UPSTART INHERITANCE: III - A CHANCE   
  
Jules squeezed the last drops of rain from his long, black hair and shuddered. The journey here had been a nightmare. Half of them were far too young to be out in such dire weather as reigned tonight. The road had offered no shelter though, and Axel, the eldest and their undisputed leader, had pressed on through the massive burial grounds and the canyons of the west, towards the keep of Melchiah. He seemed deaf to the howling and shrieking of his followers, who, half-mad with pain and hunger, loudly voiced their desperation, berating each other, their Master, Kain, and the world at large.   
  
And now here they were, huddled in a small room, cradling their long-drained cups of blood, avoiding each other's eyes. Jules had a little pride to swallow himself -- apart from Axel, he was the eldest, and he hadn't borne the ordeal with the stoic endurance he ought to have shown.   
  
_Shut up!_ he had shouted. _Shut up, all of you! Your Master is dead, show some decorum!_   
  
Ironic, really, to shout that at the top of one's voice, only to add to the cacophony and chaos. Jules glanced over at Axel, who was staring into the fire. Their host returned, broad-shouldered, regal looking. Melchiah had met them at the gate himself, and led them here, to this darkened chamber. He had left them when little struggles broke out over the bottled blood his servants brought in. Now he looked over their muted, bedraggled assembly, clearly displeased with the sight that met his eyes.   
  
"So, are you ready now to tell me why you come and knock on my door in the early hours of the morn, starving and half-drowned?"   
  
Axel met Jules' eyes, briefly. The others all stared at their cups or the floor, so Jules took the word.   
  
"Forgive us, Lord Melchiah. We do not mean to make light of your hospitality. We come here because we have nowhere else to go -- we have been cast out by our clan." One or two ashen faces looked up. Jules knew only a couple of his new companions by name; Adoile, the Lord's youngest child and his servant girl, and the fledgling with the long white hair and the earring they called Kainsken. Hengest and Horsa, the twins, were here. They were made on the same night, and it was said they shared the same soul. Jules turned back to Melchiah, who was waiting for an explanation.   
  
"We want to take vengeance on Kain."   
  
Melchiah's expression remained unchanged. If he was surprised, he did not show it. "Vengeance?" he repeated.   
  
"Our Lord was murdered," a deep voice spoke up. One of the guardsmen, Jules recognised him. He was Harald's own boy. "He committed no crime, but was executed like any common traitor. His murderer must pay for that, no matter who he is."   
  
Melchiah looked around the room with a grave expression. "Vengeance?" he asked again. "Are all you Razelim mad? You cannot take vengeance on Lord Kain, you can't even harm him. These weapons you carry..." He waved a dismissing hand. "You might as well bring sticks for all the good they will do you. What do you mean, vengeance? You will all get killed!"   
  
All looked up now. Eleven pairs of eyes turned to meet his with perfect determination and will. He looked around for a moment, then turned to Axel.   
  
"You will get them all killed," he said, accusingly.   
  
"We have chosen to be here, Lord Melchiah," Kainsken spoke up, a mild indignation in his voice. "Against the advice of our superiors, against even our own better judgment, I suppose." He shrugged.   
  
Jules decided to help him out. "Our elders have decided, in their wisdom, to reinforce their dedication to Kain, and submit to his judgment -- but we cannot let this injustice stand. Raziel served his Lord faithfully for over a thousand years, and was cast away like a piece of garbage! What reason, what right did Kain have to do that? Our Lord, your brother, _burns._ He was your ally, Lord, he aided you when you had need. Repay that debt now and help us!"   
  
Melchiah stared at Jules, then turned to Axel, who met his eye with an unwavering determination. He shook his head, then cast his eyes down. When he spoke, his voice sounded fragile. "Yes, Raziel's death was unjust." He sighed. Jules exchanged a glance with Axel, who nodded back to Melchiah. "Yes, he was my brother, and my ally, and his death hurts like an iron stake through my heart." Melchiah turned to Jules, and continued, darkly, "I loved my brother. But Kain is my Maker and my Master. He granted me my existence, and even as he turns on me and destroys everything I hold dear, _I will not raise my hand against him._" His voice was ragged now, dragged out over a sea of grief. His eyes swept the room, incensed, and fixed finally on Axel. "You may stay here until the evening, then you must leave."   
  
Axel nodded, and without another word, Melchiah left them for the day.   
  


---

  
  
The inarticulate screams voiced his agony more eloquently than words could have ever done. Melchiah called his name.   
  
_Raziel!_   
  
For some reason Melchiah could not determine where Raziel was. What was happening to his noble brother? Raziel! Why could Raziel not hear him?   
  
"Raziel!"   
  
The sound of his own voice echoed mockingly through the catacombs beneath his keep. He was awake, the keep was still, it was daytime. The unbearable screaming had gone.   
  
_No, not gone,_ Melchiah realised. I just can't hear it anymore. Raziel's torment was very real, this had been no dream, but an echo from the underworld. Raziel burned in the abyss, deaf and blind to all but his own pain. The Eldest was gone, and all Melchiah would know him by now was this tortured howling. He buried his face in his hands.   
  
_Oh, Raziel..._ His brother, his closest ally for a thousand years, and his only friend. He was dead. Gone. All that was left of him was pain. Despair welled up from deep inside Melchiah, and tears burned in his eyes. Tears for the injustice of it, the insufferable randomness. Why did it have to be him? Why Raziel, beautiful, proud Raziel? A dark thought turned on Kain, and demanded, teeth clenched, why?   
  
"You can hear him too, can't you?"   
  
Melchiah froze. Where did the voice come from? He could not see anyone in the darkness of the crypt.   
  
"You can hear it echo from the underworld," another voice claimed.   
  
"That was no dream, Melchiah," the first added.   
  
"Who are you?" Melchiah demanded, a hard edge to his voice. "Spirits? Be gone!"   
  
"We're no spirits." As they slipped out of the shadows, their echoing voices seemed to shrink to suit their statures.   
  
"We're of the ones you took in," the other said.   
  
"The Razelim."   
  
He remembered seeing them, sitting close together, exchanging meaningful glances as he talked to their muddied little band. One of them sat down now on the end of his smooth, stone bed, the other hovering over his shoulder. Brothers, clearly, perhaps more than that. One was sharp-faced, with half-long, spiked black hair, the other had a rounder, almost feminine face, and his hair was so short Melchiah couldn't tell whether it was fair or turned white. Both had been young when they died. Both were beautiful. Most of Raziel's kind were, in one way or another.   
  
"What are you doing here?" he asked, gruffly.   
  
"You think _we_ could sleep?" the fair one asked.   
  
"We hear him too," the dark one whispered. "We hear him scream in the darkness of his private hell. He calls to us as he calls to you, Melchiah."   
  
"He calls for vengeance -- "   
  
" -- for justice -- "   
  
" -- for release."   
  
They were silent for a moment, though Melchiah could feel a hidden whispering in the air, like movement guessed at from behind a curtain. He could not hear what they discussed, but their eyes were accusing.   
  
"You can hear him," the dark one hissed.   
  
"Of course," he answered. He could hear it. He would have to hear it now whenever he closed his eyes to rest, an impotent witness to Raziel's slow demise. It gripped his heart in the icy touch of fear. How would he bear it?   
  
"Raziel burns," the fair one said, with feeling. "Your brother! How can you sit there and do nothing?"   
  
"If you truly loved him, you would act," the other added.   
  
"Aid us -- "   
  
" -- Axel thinks you know a way!"   
  
Melchiah shook his head wearily. Little demons, these. It was no coincidence they were here. "I know of no way to destroy Kain," he said. "I don't even think it is possible."   
  
There was another silence; the curtain drawn between thought and sound waved with secret messages. Melchiah looked at them. They seemed so young, so fragile. But looks were deceiving, he knew. They both took after their master in their own way; they certainly seemed to share his fierce determination. Once Raziel set his mind on something, he would have it, no matter who stood in his way. Melchiah sighed. He knew what they were after, though how they knew to look for it here was a mystery. No matter. If this was how it would be...   
  
"But I can give you a chance, which is more than you have now." 


	4. The Artifact

AN UPSTART INHERITANCE: IV -- THE ARTIFACT   
  
Melchiah's lands had once been rich in ore and precious metals. Now, they were broken lands, and barren. Behind the keep there was a broad and shallow gorge that ran on for about a mile, and housed several entrances to the extensive mining tunnels. At one end of this gorge a small group of figures stood looking about uncertainly in the pale light of dusk, listening to the Lord of this wasteland.   
  
"Flash fire oil is no new invention. In the old days, humans used it as a rather effective weapon against our kind." Melchiah had brought a massive crossbow with a double steel bow. He footed it, and turned the crank to draw the wire back. "And the flamethrower that has regained popularity so recently uses the same principles as this. It took me centuries to find a way to purify it, to find the essence of fire within, but the results were worth it. Compared to this, the flamethrower is a crude and ineffective weapon."   
  
The bow cocked, he reached over to a padded box held by one of his children and took out a palm-sized bolt. It was a curious-looking thing, shaped like a long drop of water with an arrow's tailfeathers at the top. "This," he said with a certain kind of reverence, "is a flashbolt." It was a golden orange colour, and the surface looked slick, almost wet. Melchiah put it on the bow's slide and clicked the slide into place.   
  
Some hundred paces away, the Melchahim had set up a corpse dressed in plate armour as a target. The sharp-eyed could see that its right eye was missing, the skin around it carefully cut away. Melchiah raised the giant bow to his shoulder and took aim. "Watch."   
  
There was a loud clack when he pulled the trigger, and the bolt lodged itself in the target. Nothing happened for the shortest moment, then suddenly, the copse was torn apart as manhigh flames burst from the inside and it was enveloped in a ball of fire. The small crowd gasped, and stared at the surrogate warrior as it fell apart into flaming body parts.   
  
"Kain's blood!" Arvin whispered, awed.   
  
Melchiah lowered the weapon and turned to him. He replied, humourlessly, "If you're lucky."   
  
...   
  
"My Lord," Adoile asked, still looking wide-eyed at the inferno a hundred paces away. "Forgive me for asking, but why would you put such time and effort into making a weapon to destroy your own kind?" She looked at him fearfully.   
  
"Your master and I have been allies for a long time, child," Melchiah replied calmly. "But I have never been so foolish as to rely on that alone. My warriors are neither as strong, nor as durable as yours as therefore I've always looked for other ways to gain an advantage. This particular plaything was never meant to see much use, merely to make a point." He looked at the burnt-out wreckage, then back to her. "The Melchahim are not defenseless."   
  
She nodded, her eyes wide with a new kind of respect.   
  
A lone crow circled the barren gorge, eyeing the burnt-out dead man. Melchiah looked up at it pensively. "I never thought..." he mumbled, shaking his head. Then he looked at Axel. "How did you know? I never told Raziel about this."   
  
Axel shook his head and raised his shoulders slightly.   
  
Melchiah sighed. "When coincidence seems too convenient, some would call it fate," he said. "Perhaps this is its real purpose. It certainly would seem that way..."   
  
Axel stepped up and held out his hand for the crossbow. Melchiah gave it to him and he weighed it in his hand, cranked back the wire, and looked doubtfully at his men.   
  
"It doesn't matter if they can't load it. You will not get more than one shot each, in any case," Melchiah told him, solemnly. "I have ten of these bows. And twelve dozen bolts, but you will not have use for that many. If the first volley is not enough, you won't have time for a second, and even if you had, it wouldn't help you."   
  
Axel nodded grimly.   
  
"Come with me to my library," Melchiah said. "There is one other thing I can help you with."   
  
...   
  
The library was an enormous room with a domed roof of glass and a wooden floor; the walls were hung with maps and technical drawings of arcane machines. The area at the far end was raised as a platform, and there was a long table there, lit by bright gaslamps. In the lowered centre of the room was a giant machine of dark steel. Its massive, cylindrical body of riveted steel plates was nestled in a mass of pipes, valves and tanks, the whole perched majestically on four broad wagon wheels. A heavy wheel hung suspended above the ground on one side, its rim as broad as a man's head. Although it showed signs of corrosion and decay, it was dust-free and the dark metal tank shone with dull gleam, as if it had been polished. The Razelim circled it curiously.   
  
"It's a steam-engine," Melchiah said in his characteristic slow, emotionless tone.   
  
Adoile reached out to touch it, her fingers stroking the massive bolts and the curve of the tank. She sensed this giant hulk of metal had once housed great power, a power that was now dormant, but not yet dead.   
  
"What does it do?" Jules asked.   
  
"Nothing," Melchiah answered morosely. "Not anymore. It broke a long time ago, and I have not been able to repair it, or to make anything like it. It is an ancient human technology, from before the empire."   
  
Adoile gaped and pulled her hand back. Before the empire... that meant it was over a thousand years old. The time before the empire was a time of legend, a time when the world itself was young, a mythical time. And yet, here was an artifact from that time, as solid and real as she, its very shape suggestive of the power by which it endured the centuries.   
  
"It's an omen," she whispered. The others looked at her, puzzled.   
  
"I've just kept it here because it intrigued me," Melchiah explained. "It was a powerful engine once, but it is useless now."   
  
"Useless, maybe," Adoile said in an awed whisper, "but it is something that came from before the empire, from before Kain. Perhaps it will last until..." She hesitated. The magnitude of what they were planning still daunted her. "'Till after Kain."   
  
The twins nodded, grasping her meaning, and both put a hand on the cold steel of the tank, Hengest his right, Horsa his left. They closed their eyes for a moment, as if in prayer. Cas did the same, and soon Axel's men were gathered around the machine, touching it like a holy relic.   
  
"An omen," Melchiah mused. "Perhaps."   
  
Axel nodded and put his hand on the massive wheel. It turned slightly, and the movement drew forth a wrenching creak that echoed through the room like a dragon's call.   
  
...   
  
Melchiah showed them old design drawings of the sanctuary. The paper was brittle and the drawings damaged, but they still served their purpose. Melchiah explained about the ledge, high above the throneroom, easily wide enough to stand on, or shoot from. It was accessible by a door on the second floor, to which he, as the architect, had the key.   
  
"How will we know he'll be there?" Cas asked, doubtfully.   
  
"Challenge him to meet you there" Melchiah said simply. "He won't say no."   
  
"We're not counting on the surprise element, then," Cas said.   
  
"Kain is a very difficult man to surprise," Melchiah answered with a sense of understatement. "You would do better to count on the element of arrogance." His eyes lit up in a rare moment of amusement. "He does not believe he can die, especially not at the hands of a few upstart fledglings. Therefore, he will face you, alone. Send one man in by the front gate, ask for an audience with Kain, and you will not be denied. Challenge him, confront him with his wrongs, distract him, and at the same time, open the door and take up position on the ledge. He will know you're there, but he won't stop you. Then you aim, and shoot him."   
  
"All at once, my Lord?" Jules asked.   
  
Melchiah nodded. "The explosions will strengthen each other. If fire can still kill him, that will."   
  
Axel held up two fingers, and tapped the centre of the throneroom with them.   
  
"Two men," Jules stated. "I agree. One man would be too vulnerable, Kain could kill him in an eyewink."   
  
"It will not take him much longer to kill two," Melchiah warned. "Not with _that blade_ in his hands."   
  
Axel gave him a determined look.   
  
"Two men," Melchiah looked around their group. "That leaves you eight shots." He nodded. "That will suffice."   
  
"How will we know when to open the door, though?" Jules asked. "If we are too early, or too late..."   
  
"Those two can whisper," Melchiah said, waving a hand at the twins. "Put one of them here, the other on the second floor, and..." he halted. The fair one, Hengest, had grabbed hold of the dark twin's arm, and they were staring at him in undivided shock.   
  
"Whisper?" Jules asked. The others looked at Melchiah with a similar lack of understanding.   
  
Melchiah frowned. "Whisper. Communicate silently over great distances." All eyes turned to the twins, who were still staring at Melchiah in horror. "Was this a secret?" he asked kindly.   
  
Hengest shook his head, slowly. Horsa stared in silence. Melchiah laughed hollowly.   
  
"No, you are certainly not the only ones."   
  
They jumped away from the table as if it had burned them, and huddled together, open-mouthed.   
  
"Did anyone know about this?" Jules asked quietly.   
  
"I heard they shared the same thoughts..." Adoile answered. "I thought it was because they were twins."   
  
Hengest and Horsa nodded fervently, seemingly unable to speak.   
  
"Don't be foolish," Melchiah said. "This is a gift from Kain, like any other. It's just not very common. A few of my clan have it, Zephon and a few of his. And Kain, of course."   
  
"You can talk to Kain, from here?" Jules asked, incredulous.   
  
"I could. If he ever answered," Melchiah replied bitterly. He looked over at the twins, who seemed to be having an animated, though silent, argument. "I'm afraid one of you will have to volunteer. This plan does not work without the advantage the whisper will give you."   
  
They shook their heads resolutely. "We fight together," Hengest said.   
  
"We die together," Horsa added.   
  
"Don't worry, you probably will," Melchiah said darkly. He turned back to Axel. "Don't think you'll be out of his reach on that ledge. Kain can easily pull you down, or come up there himself. But if you can get those shots off before he realises what it is you're carrying... There is a chance."   
  
"He will know though, surely?" Kainsken asked. "Kain knows all."   
  
Melchiah shook his head. "Not all. Much, but not all. If he knew about the flashbolts, he would have asked me to destroy them, like he asked me to destroy the flamethrowers and the water cannon."   
  
"Water cannon?"   
  
"Thank the stars Zephon didn't know about that one," Melchiah said with a humourless smile. "Had he managed to steal those designs as well, clan Turel would have been in dire straits indeed."   
  
A silence drifted down. The mention of Turel and Zephon reminded them of problems other than their own. Melchiah glanced at the twins, who were locked in a still embrace. Axel looked around the table, met by fearful eyes and drawn faces. It was easier to be heroic if you didn't have to think about the consequences.   
  
"Who will accompany me?" a soft voice asked. It was Hengest, the white-haired twin, now stood slightly in front of his brother. Their faces were utterly blank, their eyes empty, as if their shared soul had already departed.   
  
"I will," Kainsken said, before he'd had time to think about it. He knew he was volunteering for a martyr's role, but no part of him seemed to hesitate. "I'd be a liability trying to shoulder one of those crossbows, anyway," he said by way of explanation. Axel gave him a nod of respect, Cas smiled sadly. Kainsken looked at the steam engine again, that still, iron witness to another age. An age without Kain. Perhaps Nosgoth would know such an era again, perhaps soon. In his heart of hearts, Kainsken felt relieved he would not have to face it himself.

* * *

Author's Notes: This chapter has undergone severe changes before its appearance here, and some of what went before will be changed as well. Thanks to my reviewers, you've been very helpful. See, this is why I don't normally publish stuff _as_ I'm writing it: writing is all about rewriting with me. I'm sticking to the questions-gimmick, it's helping me.   
  
Reviewer replies:  
  
Smoke, that was neither pointless nor unhelpful. Thank you. I agree with your analysis of Melchiah's motivations. Cowardice doesn't really come into it. I have come to realise that I have not given him the attention his complex loyalties warrant. There will be more of him in the next chapter.  
Tomlette, I understand that you don't want to nitpick at chapter two. Thank you for doing it for this one. I will try to improve wordings in the rewrite. I tend to stay away from parodies. I hear your stuff's very funny, though.  
Schuldig, I wasn't aware Ms. Hennig needed foregiveness. I rather think she deserves a cookie. The size of Australia, roughly. Thanks for enjoying this so much. Bit of a weird thing to say, I know, but... it really does help. Do you feel sympathy for the main characters? My boyfriend has a little trouble with this; he thinks they're being stupid. And selfish.   
  
Questions for my Reviewers:   
1 - Was this chapter as hard to read as it was to write? (That's a rhetorical one, in case you can't guess.)   
2 - Apart from the fact that we all know Kain survives, is it realistic that they think they have a chance?   
3 - Is the steam engine cool, or does it seem out of place?   
4 - Can you guess what consequences they're thinking of? 


	5. Destiny

AN UPSTART INHERITANCE: V -- DESTINY   
  
He wandered through the halls and stairways of Melchiah's vampire city. It was cloaked in a murky half-light, as if the sun didn't quite dare to reach down this far between the buildings and walkways. The others were resting, tomorrow night they would march. There was a small matter still to be resolved, and now was the time for it.   
  
He had spotted the shrine earlier, off one of the side streets. There was no door, just an arched opening, and it was small. A banner, a flaming brazier before it, primitive stone benches on the side wall and candles everywhere. It was smaller even than the little round chapel at Darstein, but it would suffice. He knelt on the cold stone floor, and put his sword out in front of him. He adjusted it with his fingertips until it was absolutely straight, and realised he was hesitant to continue. He drew a line over his wrist with a claw, and spilled a drop of blood onto the floor. "By your blood, running through my veins..." He had done this so often in the past, to pray for strength, for success, for wisdom. The motions were still the same, but their meaning seemed to have changed into its opposite. Dispairing, he ran his hands through his long white hair, once his pride, now his pain. He looked up.   
  
Kain's sigil, white on red, visible just above and behind the dancing orange flames of the brazier. For a moment, Kainsken feared he would cry. Such a display of weakness would have been highly inappropriate, and he silently berated himself for it. He cleared his throat, and began his prayer, in a whisper.   
  
"Lord, in these few years of my esistence, you have been an example and an inspiration to me. You have taught me much about discipline, courage and loyalty, principles by which I have tried to live, and by which I intend to die. Even --" he halted, swallowed, and started again. "Even if it means dying by your hand. I never thought that we'd be enemies, Kain, but now I find myself conspiring against you. Forgive me Lord, but I am a son of Raziel, whom you murdered. He granted me life, he gave me a sword and turned me into what I am tonight. I owe him this. So..." Again he paused to blink away the treacherous tears gathering in his eyes. He bit his tongue 'till it bled. No, he would not cry, he would do this properly, as he intended.   
  
The shadows around him grew deeper, and he held his breath. There was someone behind him. Close behind, just on the threshold to the chapel. Whoever was there didn't move away, and he turned to look over his shoulder at who would disturb him.   
  
"A little strange, to turn to your enemy in prayer." Melchiah stood in arched gateway, blocking out the misty sunlight. His face lit up yellow in the light of the candles and the brazier, and it made him look even more malnourished than he really looked.   
  
"Lord Melchiah," Kainsken answered, "I was just..." He felt foolish suddenly, as if he'd been caught doing something wrong. Melchiah didn't seem to consider his behaviour inappropriate, but neither did he leave him to it. He sat down on one of the benches, beside Kainsken, and let out a weary sigh.   
  
"Why did you volunteer, fledge?" he asked in a friendly tone. "You know you're unlikely to survive the explosions, even if you survive Kain."   
  
Kainsken stared ahead, into the fire. "Survival wasn't the foremost thing on my mind when we started this," he said stubbornly.   
  
Melchiah let out a dry laugh. "What are you praying for, then?" he asked.   
  
"Mercy," Kainsken answered, truthfully. "A swift death."   
  
His host grunted approvingly. "That I can understand."   
  
Moments passed. Melchiah did not seem to be about to leave, and Kainsken wondered if he should just continue. He felt a little loth to; this was a very personal prayer. He decided he might as well ask the question that had been plaguing him all night, after all, Melchiah had asked him almost the same question. "And you? Why are you helping us, my Lord? If we fail, surely Kain will know you helped us?"   
  
Melchiah nodded slowly. "I should think so, yes."   
  
"Then why? Why do you betray your Lord?" His hands twisted into fists; he was shocked himself at his impertinence. Melchiah barely seemed to notice. He looked down and his hands, which were folded together in his lap.   
  
"You think Kain is a God," his deep, slow voice rumbled. "You think he needs answer to no one. But any lord is a lord only because and for as long as his followers support him. Kain is no exception." He looked up at Kainsken, who could feel the weight of the sadness in those sunken eyes. "I have sent men to their deaths, little one. Often, in the past. Sometimes, a Lord must make a sacrifice for the greater good, but he may never do so wantonly, never without reason." He shook his head and shrugged, a helpless gesture. "Raziel was Kain's most faithful servant, he would have died for his Lord, and gladly, but not like this." His voice trailed off into a whisper. "Raziel was the first and best of us, he..."   
  
He halted abruptly, and shook his head again. An icy finger of shock ran through Kainsken when he wiped his eyes. The clan lord was weeping. He looked away, at his unsheathed sword on the floor. Melchiah had lost his brother, he realised. He felt this loss deeply and personally, and why would he not? "I had no idea you were so close," he said softly.   
  
"We weren't," Melchiah replied. "Not anymore. And now..." He sighed deeply. When he spoke again, the strength had returned to his voice, and he was back to defending his position. "When Kain turned on him, when he ordered us to cast him into the abyss, he betrayed all of us. I'm just returning the favour."   
  
Kainsken shivered. He frowned, as his brain picked up on a snippet of new information. "Kain did not do it himself?" He looked up at his host, who seemed composed once again.   
  
"No, he just gave the order. Turel and Dumah were besides Raziel, they took him up. They threw him in." He lowered his eyes. "To be honest, I'm not certain I would not have done the same," he added in a dark voice.   
  
Kainsken looked away again. The silence grew, broken only by the gentle roar of the fire. He tried to imagine it, Kain giving the order, the brothers faced with a choice: to murder their own brother, or to go against their Lord. He shook his head, unwilling to face such a dilemma. But Turel and Dumah had made their choice, had they not? And what did that mean for them now?   
  
"Even if Kain dies, his sons will turn against you, won't they?" he asked, his voice trembling.   
  
"Yes," Melchiah answered.   
  
Kainsken kept his eyes fixed on the fire, and the symbol beyond it. "And against us, and our clan?"   
  
"Yes," came the calm reply.   
  
Kainsken shook his head, tears once again blurring his vision. "But then we may doom our entire clan, whether we fail or succeed," he cried. "Would Kain be satisfied with our deaths alone?" He looked to Melchiah, but found only quiet resignation in his yellow eyes. "Is vengeance worth that much?" he asked, his voice breaking.   
  
"You seemed to think so. Weren't you willing to die for vengeance?"   
  
"Die, yes," Kainsken said, unable to stop his tears, which now ran freely over his face. "But there is much more at stake that my pitiful life. I though we were just going to die honourably. I never thought we'd actually stand a chance!" He covered his face with his hands, wiping the tears. "Things are different now," he whispered. "If we do not kill Kain, he will be furious at our attempt. If we do, his faithful sons will inherit his wrath. We are endangering our entire bloodline for this." He looked up at his host, whose expression remained unchanged. "Is that the honourable thing to do?"   
  
"Honour is never that simple," Melchiah answered, and for a while, they both stared at the fire. "Your clan cast you out," Melchiah continued, "but did they try to stop you from what you would do?"   
  
Kainsken shook his his head.   
  
"They knew the risk, and they let you go. Honour can be different things to different people, but your clan understands the need for retribution."   
  
Kainsken contemplated this. He had felt very alone on that stage, with only Adoile and Axel by his side. Did that silent crowd support them?   
  
"Long ago," Melchiah started in the tone of a man telling an old and wearisome tale, "I turned to Kain and asked him, 'Why did you make me like this? Look at me in my weakness, why do you allow me to exist like this?' And he told me to be patient, and that all things have their place in destiny's grand plan. I asked him what my destiny was, but he could not tell me. 'You'll know when it arrives,' he said."   
  
Kainsken shifted on the floor, turning to look at Melchiah more easily. The brazier's flame lit up his face and painted it with dancing shadows. He looked almost human in this small chapel, not like a vampire, not like a clan leader at all.   
  
"All things have their purpose," Melchiah repeated. "My weakness, passed on to my children, drove me to create a weapon of such destructive power that it could take out a God. You, Raziel's righteous avengers, have come for it. You did not know, and yet, here you are, guided by that same infallable hand that guides us all, even Kain. This is how it has to be." The closing statement was put simply but reverentially, as if it could carry away all doubt. Kainsken shook his head angrily.   
  
"So it is your destiny to help us destroy Kain?" he asked.   
  
"I believe it may well be," Melchiah answered.   
  
"And was it Raziel's destiny to die like that?" he asked, new tears seeping into his voice.   
  
"So it seems." Melchiah sighed. "He was the first. Isn't it fitting he should die by the same hand that shaped him ten centuries ago?"   
  
Kainsken turned to the flame again, biting his tongue.   
  
"I don't know if they still use this phrase," his host droned on, "but in the beginning, Kain told us that we, as dead men, were fitting lords to rule over a dying land. From the beginning, our empire has been doomed. And after a thousand years of slow decay and corruption, I think the final nights may be here at last. We are all fated to die, Kain, my brethren, our children. We were doomed from the beginning."   
  
Kainsken answered with a derisative snort. "So this is the end of the world?" he asked sceptically.   
  
"I would have thought that obvious. Nosgoth is almosty incapable of sustaining life any longer. We depend on the cattle to live, they depend on the fields to feed them. And the fields lie barren and dry." He drew himself up as if about to leave. "Yes, you may doom your kinsmen as well as yourself with this, but your choice is not to live or die, young one. It is to die now, or suffer an eternity of slow rot and dilapidation." And unpleasant smile teased his lips apart. "Honestly, I don't see why you hesitate."   
  
Kainsken looked down at his sword. He felt drained, as if simply talking to Melchiah was seeping energy away from him. "Is all lost then?" he asked desperately.   
  
"All that is lost, is gone forever," Melchiah's deep monotone answered. "All that remains will fade away. Don't let fear detain you now, warrior. Let your righteous anger guide you, while you still have some." He stood up and departed, leaving an unpleasant chill and a faintly earthy smell in his wake.   
  
Kainsken sighed and gathered his thoughts together from the whirlwind of half-distinct emotions Melchiah had left him in. He had come here for a purpose. Destiny be damned, he would do what he had to. For Raziel.   
  
He took up his sword and gathered his hair together. "Thank you, my Lord, for all you have taught me." He cut his hair off at the back and put the smoky strands in front of him. "May death's embrace be kind to you." With the tip of his dagger, he sliced through his earlobe to take out the ring. Raziel's signet ring. He slipped it around his finger and closed his fist on it. A candle sputtered and died as he stood up, resheathing his sword. He picked up his hair and thrust it into the brazier. It burned brightly, and spread thick, white smoke through the small chapel.   
  
"I am Baldwin, son of Raziel. And I swear upon my life that I will kill you."

* * *

Author's notes: OK, one rejig later... I've run through the previous chapters again, and changed what I found necessary. A little more attention to the future of Clan Raziel factor, I hope it works better this way (it's in chapter 2, in case you don't want to read the whole thing again, which, in spite of your undying enthusiasm, I can imagine.) So this is why Melchiah does what he does. It's a bit rough, I hope you'll forgive me for putting it up in this state, but I hadn't updated in a while, and I won't redo this one until I've written the next one (It's how I work).  
  
To my Reviewers:  
Smoke: No actually, before, they didn't stop to consider they might be damning their entire clan. Now they did. Thanks for helping me realise they needed to.  
  
Schuldig: Naive... I can live with that. Keep in mind though that they don't know that Kain has five dots of plot immunity. Even the strongest vampire is vulnerable, as Raziel put it. Anyway. I suppose you're right. Why the twins are afraid, ah, hm, I see. :takes notes: I might be able to clarify that.  
  
Glad you liked the steam engine. I was afraid at first that it might be horribly out of place, especially since I haven't hinted on anything Blood Omen 2ish so far, but I think I made it work. And I meant it was a bit weird for me to thank you for liking the story so much. I don't think it's weird _that_ you like it. I like it. I'm just glad I'm not the only one!  
  
Feel free to erect whatever you like in my name. Heheh. 


	6. My Heart

AN UPSTART INHERITENCE: VI -- MY HEART   
  
The high-ceilinged hall echoed with an eerie kind of silence. The shuffling of boots and the rattle of weapons could not mask the muteness that hung over them. None spoke, each of them caught in their own thoughts and regrets. They were dressed in black: deep, majestic black. The cloak worn by their leader Axel was edged with silver, but however regal, it was still colourless, clanless. They were outcasts. They were damned.   
  
The Melchahim surrounding them were quiet too, they watched, faces drawn with worry and fear, how their Master handed out the massive crossbows and demonstrated their use. The bolts were in individual padded boxes, the tops coloured red to remind them not to turn them upside down. He instructed them not to take them out until the last moment, or the deadly flames might be unleashed prematurely. Some of the fledglings in Axel's black-clad band struggled to see if they could get the bows spanned. Jules went up to one of them.   
  
"Adoile," he said softly and put a hand on her shoulder. She looked up furiously, her hair falling in her face. She pulled on the cranequin with all her strength, determined to get the string nocked. "You've done enough," he said.   
  
The crane gave a few increments. "If by that you mean to say I'm not joining you, you're wrong," she said, panting, and forced the string back by another notch.   
  
"This isn't your place," Jules said gently, but insistently.   
  
She gave up on the crossbow and straightened up. "He was my Lord too," she said, and although she struggled to keep her voice down, it echoed through the vaulted hall. Heads turned to look at her. "I have a right to be there!"   
  
Jules shook his head. "No, Adoile."   
  
"I can shoot straight," she insisted, and tried to lift the crossbow up to her shoulder. Her face contorted with the effort, but she managed to level the monster, using both hands. She held it, trembling. She didn't see Axel approaching.   
  
Axel grabbed the crossbow in one hand took it from her. He looked down at her and shook his head briefly and definitively.   
  
She looked at the floor, defeated. Men were allowed to take action, she reminded herself, bitterly. Women were only allowed to suffer.   
  
"Then what am I to do?" she asked desperately. The outcasts stood around them in a rough and silent half-circle. They had no answer. She looked at their blank faces, the almost comically large crossbows they carried. Kainsken, who was now Baldwin, stood off to one side. He fingered the hilt of his sword, and brushed his hair out of his face for the tenth time that night. The twins carried a bow between them; she'd already forgotten which of them it was that would face Kain. Jules looked at her with what could only be pity, and she looked at the floor again, tears stinging her eyes. There was a hand at her shoulder.   
  
Axel bent down to her, his eyes locking with hers. "Mourn us." His voice as dry and a little hoarse, and drifted through the hall like a fragile moth. They were the first words Adoile had ever heard him speak, and the silence that descended in their wake felt brittle and dead. Hesitantly, the outcasts continued their preparations.   
  
Adoile watched them, and realised Axel was right. They were marching to their deaths. Every one of them was doomed, in spite of the help Melchiah had offered them. They didn't stand a chance. The silence was depressing and, Adoile felt, inappropriate. Softly, she began to sing.   
  
_

My heart bleeds for you   
This pain will never end

_   
  
It was an old song for fallen comrades, slow and sad. After the second line, the young vampire Arvin added his voice to her faltering soprano, and helped her carry the tune.   
  
_

I'm cold here without you   
My Lord, my Lord, my friend

_   
  
He altered the last line to apply to Raziel and she followed. More and more voices joined in, singing a slow, sad hymn to their Lord, and to themselves.   
  
_

My eyes bleed tears for you   
This grief will have no end   
I'm lost here without you   
My Lord, my Lord, my friend.   
  
I will not put down my steel, dear father,   
I will fight, even without you at my side.

_   
  
They were ready. With a slight nod of his head, Axel ordered them our the door, and led them through the emptied, foggy streets of Melchiah's city.   
  
_

I will always hurt for you   
My love will have no end   
I carry on without you   
My Lord, my Lord, my friend

_   
  
Melchiah saw them out the gate, which closed, creaking loudly, behind them. Adoile climbed the watch-tower to see them go. The road was empty, and dry as dust now that the rain had dried. A fitful wind ruffled their hair and pulled on their black cloaks, mocking, calling to them to abandon this mad ambition.   
  
_

One night they'll sing for me   
My hunger at an end   
And carry on without me   
My brothers and my friends

_   
  
Adoile stood on top of the city walls, cold, dead hands gripping the rough stone crenellation, her curls swaying around her tear-stained face. She looked out over the wasteland of the west until her kinsmen were no more than a hint of darkness in the distance. She waited, the howling wind her only companion, to see if anyone would return.   
  
_

I will not put down my steel, dear father,   
I will fight, even without you at my side.

_

* * *

Author's notes:  
  
Well, there you go. Chapter 6. It's a bit short, I know. At first I wanted to combine it with the scene that follows, but they are very different in mood so I decided not to. Hope you like the little song, I adapted it from a sad love-song, which I think shows, but I still think it fits.  
  
Questions:  
Am I overstepping the line into melodrama yet? :/  
Did the blatant sexism surprise you, or does it seem a natural part of the setting and characters?  
  
Review Responses:  
  
Thank you! I love you all, you're so enthusiastic! Whee! It really does help to have you guys cheering me on, this story has been tricky at times. So, yeah, thanks. Do tell me if you find faults though, even if they're tiny, even if they're huge. I can take it.  
  
About the 'Kainsken vs. Kain' thing, let me just illustrate that for a second...  
  
Ladies and gentlemen, the moment we've all been waiting for, please welcome, in the left corner: it's Kainsken! He's a fledge, he's the worst swordsman to ever call himself a Razelim, and he's got a pointy stick! Give him a hand!  
And in the right corner, the one, the only, Kain! The conqueror of Nosgoth, the scourge of the Circle, slayer of the unspoken AND the Hylden lord. He's armed with the Soul Reaver and harder than ever. Give it up!  
  
_Ding!_  
  



	7. Vengeance

AN UPSTART INHERITANCE: VII -- VENGEANCE  
  
"We wish to speak to Kain."  
  
The two guards did not move aside. They were both dressed in deep red as guards of the Sanctuary: Kain's own men. They looked the two black-clad vampires up and down a bit.  
  
"Only you two?" the taller of the guards asked skeptically. He had short, brown hair and a face that would be friendly, if not for the cynical sneer on it.  
  
"You are welcome to join us, if you wish," Hengest said sharply.  
  
A thin smile spread his lips. "Not likely." Baldwin looked more closely at him. He could not remember ever seeing him before, but with lips that dark and eyes that bright, he could easily be Razelim. He brushed his hair out of his face and glanced at Hengest. The certain knowledge that he was going to die did not leave him calm and collected, as he had hoped. In fact, he was trembling. What if these guards would not even let them through? They could hardly fight their way in, there was a crowd in the gatehouse not thirty paces away.  
  
"Is this all, Marten?" the second guard asked his companion. "I thought Raziel was loved better than that. Or are his spawn all cowards?"  
  
"All but two, it seems," Marten answered. "And they're damned fools."  
  
They stood aside. Baldwin felt their contemptuous eyes on him as they passed them, into the gloom of the circular hallway that ran around the throneroom. He tried to walk with confidence, but terror made his steps falter and his head try to hide between his shoulders. Kain was expecting them, even the guards were. He reminded himself their plan depended on that, that there was still hope, if not much of it.  
  
"They're ready," Hengest whispered, and Baldwin nodded. The door to the throneroom was open, light spilled out into the hallway. Kain was waiting. Baldwin took a deep breath and nodded at Hengest. They strode in, side by side. When the door slammed shut behind them, Baldwin felt shaken, but he did not turn around. His eyes were fixed on the figure reclining on the imposing throne. Lord Kain. _No, just Kain,_ his mind corrected him. Kain watched them, one hand idly fingering the hilt on the Soul Reaver as they drew their swords and walked the steps up to the platform. Baldwin clenched his empty fist, the signet ring still sat loosely on his first finger.  
  
Kain laughed, loudly but without real mirth. It was threatening, like faraway thunder, and Baldwin clenched his fist so tight it hurt.  
  
"Ah, Raziel's avengers. I have been awaiting you for some time." He looked them up and down appraisingly. "I did expect there to be more of you, however. Did the others lose heart underway?" He leant forward, a cynical sneer on his face, his eyes darting from one to the other.  
  
Baldwin was just about to speak when Kain's eyes tracked up and beyond them -- to the door. Baldwin's heart sank. He knew, already.  
  
"Clever," Kain rumbled, a bemused smile on his face. "But not, I fear, clever enough." He stood up and raised a hand to the door. It was enveloped by a blue-green aura momentarily, and short arcs of lightning sparked from it. Baldwin's breath caught in his throat. Kain brought his attention back to them.  
  
"Now," he said, descending the steps in front of his throne, "was there something you wished to tell me?"  
  
"The door won't open," Hengest whispered, needlessly. Baldwin had guessed. All was lost, he knew, and finally, his courage seemed to return. He shook his hair out of his face and looked the father of vampirekind in the eyes.  
  
"Just a request," he said. His voice sounded modest to his ears, and insignificant, but none of that mattered anymore. It was time.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
Even now, he hesitated. This was Kain, Lord Kain. A large part of him wanted to drop to his knees in deference, but he would not. Kain was his enemy. Axel, the others, they didn't matter. He would do what he came here for. For Raziel.  
  
He dashed at his enemy, a loud cry breaking from his lips. "Die!"  
  
And the next thing he knew was the sound of his sword, clattering to the floor. He looked at his strengthless hand, confused. Cold, blue flames danced on the edge of his vision, and his eyes traced them down to his chest. Kain had caught him on the Reaver, and his own momentum had impaled him on it: the hilt nearly touched his chest. He looked up, in shock, straight into Kain's yellow eyes. He registered the look on Kain's face. Disappointment.  
  
"Your request is denied," Kain said, humourlessly, and jerked the Reaver free. Baldwin screamed, though the sound never made it out of his lungs. An indescribable pain ripped through his body as his soul was torn loose from its moorings and something answered his scream. He felt himself fall into it, a presence, a hunger, something... almost familiar...  
  
_Raziel._  
  
.

* * *

.  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
_Poof_ there goes Kainsken. The first to die. Can you guess who will be the last? Send in your answer and win a cookie! It took me an afternoon to write this, and I've been looking at it, changing little things about it since 10 now. It's half past 2. I hope it paid off.  
  
My boyfriend Dave helped me with it, it was his idea to give Kain a punchline before he kills Baldwin. I used a different line to his, but I do think it really added to it.  
  
Review Responses:  
  
Varyssa: As you well know, it can sometimes be hard to live up to the expectations one has crafted for oneself. I hope you feel I made the grade. _Bows graciously._  
  
Semdai: Glad you like it. _Pets your black little heart and kisses it better._


	8. The Remaining

AN UPSTART INHERITANCE: VIII -- ADOILE   
  
Dawn found Adoile still on top of the watchtower, her body draped limply over the low wall, watching, waiting. She shielded her eyes against the sun, and did not mind that that was not enough. She welcomed the blinding pain, it was the first thing she was aware of feeling in hours.   
  
"Child," a voice behind her said, not unkindly. "Come, you must rest."   
  
"I do not wish to rest," she said, and turned around. She was still blinded, and she felt tears running down her cheek. She could smell the man in front of her, it was a fleshy smell, as of well-drained meat.   
  
"They're not coming back, child," he said gently.   
  
"My name is Adoile," she said.   
  
"I am Rainas," he answered. Her sight returned, slowly. The sickly morning light coloured him yellow, he was tall and gangly and dressed in very common clothes. Most of the Melchahim were, though they wore gold like it was as cheap as tin.   
  
"Did you know him?" she asked, her voice an ethereal whisper that threatened to break. It pained her to say his name. It pained her even to think it.   
  
"I met Lord Raziel once or twice," Rainas said, "but -- no, I did not really know him."   
  
She turned away from him, back to the sun, but it had grown too bright and she recoiled into the shade behind the crenellation, so full of grief and loathing that she could hardly bear to be inside her own body.   
  
"You loved him," Rainas said calmly. She did not answer. "And now he is gone," he continued, "and you cannot imagine ever smiling again. Everything you enjoyed about life has lost its meaning, everything you might do do is pointless and absurd, because he is no longer there."   
  
She turned around to him, enraged. How could a stranger pretend to know her so well, how dare he name her heart!   
  
"We all know the pain of loss, my child -- Adoile," he corrected himself. "All must face it, sooner or later, unless they die first."   
  
She bowed her head in shame. She should have realised he was not talking about her alone. "I would it were so," she said mournfully. "I would I could take his place. I would gladly burn for a thousand years, just to know that he still lived!"   
  
He slowly walked up and stood beside her, looking out over the wasteland that was his home, the softening darkness fled from it like startled birds. In the light of day, it looked dead and dry, as if the lifegiving blood had been drained from the land itself. Adoile found herself staring at his feet. They were dirty, the claws cracked and crumbling. Up the length of one of his calves was a gash, the blackened edges of the wound held together with crooked stitches. It might have shocked her, or disgusted her, if she was still capable of those feelings.   
  
"But it is not so," he said. "And little can be gained by wishing things were different than they were, or wondering why. Those thoughts will lead you nowhere, except to the realisation that what happened, happened, and nothing else. It could not, and cannot be helped. You will come to accept this, in time."   
  
He was talking about himself. These words did not apply to her. The distraction was surprisingly welcome. "Who did you lose?" she asked, looking up at his long, slightly grimy face.   
  
"My son," he said, "my eldest."   
  
She nodded. The eldest son was often the first in favour. She still remembered how Raziel had grieved when they lost Konrad, his deputy, and eldest of the Razelim. But Raziel had been the eldest son of _his_ sire, too, and what kind of monster was Kain that he had --   
  
That he could --   
  
She did not finish these thoughts. She did not want to think about it again, she did not want to think about _him_. But the monster's image forced itself onto her aching mind, his face, the way he looked at her when she had met him, long ago. She had reached out and touched him, in awe of his power, his alien beauty...   
  
The memory chilled her to the darkest core of her heart.   
  
.   
  
"Someone's coming," Rainas said flatly. She jumped up and looked out at the road. The figure was still far away, a dark shadow in the distance.   
  
"Who is it?" she asked. Rainas did not know yet, or at least, he did not answer. The figure drew closer, walking with haste, it seemed. She shielded her eyes against the sun, and finally thought she could discern the colours the man was wearing. She wiped a pained tear from her eyes and looked again. It was unmistakable. Red.   
  
"One of Kain's men," Rainas commented and she nodded. Of course, Kain, too, wore red, and so did the Sanctuary guards. But what did that mean?   
  
Rainas shouted something to the guards below. Adoile got to her feet but he stopped her from going down.   
  
"This is not your business," he said.   
  
"But I want to know what happened," she protested.   
  
"Kain is still alive," he said, gesturing at the nearing messenger. "That means your kinsmen are dead."   
  
She turned away again, to the road and the lone figure. He was right, of course. She should have realised. _Stupid girl,_ she thought. She should not be surprised, not even disappointed. They never truly stood a chance. New tears squeezed themselves into her eyes. Baldwin, the twins, Axel, Jules... all dead, all gone. And how many more, before this was truly over? What would be the next sickening act in this perverse, senseless drama?   
  
Kain's man was welcomed into the gate, and taken deeper into the city. All seemed quiet, but Adoile could hear, even on top of the tower, the anxiety spreading through the streets like a swarm of bees. The Melchahim met in doorways, and whispered questions to each other that none could answer. Finally, the city gate swung open below her once more. Two men came out; Kain's guard and Melchiah.   
  
Lord Melchiah walked proudly, his back straight, his steps unfaltering. But when they were some distance away from the gate, he turned, and looked over his shoulder for a long moment, as if in regret. As if saying goodbye.   
  
"Oh, God," Adoile gasped. He was next. Kain knew he had helped them, and now, he, too, would end in the abyss. "Oh, God," she repeated, and then she realised who she was appealing to. There was no God but Kain. And Kain was a cruel God, who was unlikely to take pity on anyone, and who now seemed to crave the blood of his own sons above all else. She walked backwards from the edge of the tower, shaking her head, trembling.   
  
"No," she heard herself whisper, "no, take this back. I want to go back!" She was halted by Rainas, who looked at her, his face a puzzle of emotions.   
  
"Come," he said, and she followed him down the spiralling stairs. A small crowd was gathered at the gate, all looked up to a stern-looking figure who stood halfway up a flight of stairs so he could be seen by all.   
  
"No one is going anywhere," he said loudly. "Our Master has ordered me to keep you here and I will do so, until we hear word from him or from the Sanctuary. Whatever happens, you will answer to me. Lord Melchiah has left me in charge and I will not tolerate stupidity!"   
  
Anger flared in Adoile's chest. Stupidity? Her clansmen had given their lives for their Lord, that was not stupidity. She wrestled to the front of the crowd.   
  
"Open the gate!" she demanded. The man stared at her angrily. "Your Master does not command me, and neither do you," she shouted, unafraid. "Open the gate!"   
  
Clearly, he could see she was right, for at his gesture, the gate started to creak open. She slipped through, and started to run down the cheerless, sunlit road. She was not sure what she expected to be able to do, but she could not simply sit there and wait any longer. She would know.   
  
.   
  


...

  
  
.   
  
She did not catch up to Lord Melchiah and the messenger. They left her far behind, for the sun bothered her greatly and she had to shelter and rest in every dark corner she came across. She hurried past Darstein castle, which had been her home since she'd been raised. It seemed dark and forbidding now, even in the daylight. Its magnificence could no longer make her feel pride; it was not hers to be proud of. She moved on, blindly stumbling over the hills and valleys that led, eventually, to the Sanctuary. The gardens in front of the palace were deserted. She hurried through the main gate to find solace in the shade of the gatehouse. Her throat was parched, her skin was burning and she felt weak with hunger. When her eyes adjusted, after some time, to the darkness, she was surprised to see there was no one in sight. It was daytime, but surely, someone ought to keep watch?   
  
She glanced up the stairs towards Kain's quarters, but she knew he would not be there. She continued her way into the small courtyard. That, too, was deserted. The ponds on either side of the path did not so much as ripple. Was everyone in the throneroom? She hurried to the other side of the courtyard and tried the door. It was not locked. Again, she met no one, even in these broad hallways, and when she listened at the threshold of the throneroom, there was only silence. The doors were slightly ajar, and she pushed them open with a courage born from dispair. What else was she to do?   
  
Kain was not here. Her companions were -- what was left of them. Horror threatened to turn her stomach when she looked around, taking in the gory tableau slowly, for she could not bear seeing everything at once. There was surprisingly little blood, but their dead, broken bodies were scattered around like carelessly discarded laundry. The flashbolts had clearly missed their mark; some had not even been shot and still sat, gleaming golden, on the giant crossbows. One of the broad pillars bearing the clan symbols was blackened and indistinct, and one of the corpses was charred beyond recognition. She walked slowly, carefully, as though she were treading on their bones with every step. They were one short, and she knew that it was Axel who was missing. She knew where they were, now, too. Death was too good for their traitorous leader.   
  
In the centre of the room was Kainsken, or Baldwin, though that mattered little now that he was dead. The corpse was on its back, its limbs spread out in odd angles. He had a deep, black-edged wound in the centre of his chest, and dark traces ran from it, like fracture lines, through his skin. She realised they were his bloodvessels, black and swollen.   
  
She knelt down at his side, and swept his soft white hair out of his face. His eyes were wide open, his face frozen in an expression of eternal shock. She winced. She reached out to close his eyes, but the dry and brittle orbs crumbled beneath her fingers, and she jerked her hand back. A small, keening noise escaped her throat.   
  
Desperately, she whispered his name. He stared at her from black, empty sockets and a dry sob shook her tender frame. His fist was still clenched, she noticed, and soon she saw why. The ring. Raziel's signet ring, given to him years ago as a token of the Master's favour, was still on his finger. She reached out to take it. His skin felt dry and brittle, like autumn leaves, and his finger broke off when she tried to bend it back. There was no blood, just dry, black flesh. She pocketed the ring and turned away, tears running down her face. She had seen death before, but never had she encountered something as bloodless and pathetically fragile as this. As this _thing_ that used to be Kainsken.   
  
She wandered around aimlessly, thinking, she ought to burn the bodies. It was their tradition, and it allowed the souls free passage to the world beyond. She found the white-haired twin on the edge of the marble dais, cut clean in two from his left shoulder to his right hip. He showed the same swollen veins in his skin, and looked equally brittle. She realised, finally, what it was that had left them so empty and frail. There was no need to burn these bodies. Their souls were already gone.   
  
The other twin was not far away, badly burned, as if his flashbolt had gone off prematurely. His flesh was blackened and burned away, but part of his face still remained. She realised with a jolt that his eyes were still burning brightly. _He was still there._   
  
"Hengest?" she asked. "Horsa?" She could never remember which was which. And he could not tell her now, could not hear her. He was probably not even aware that she was there. He was beyond help. The lower half of his body was little more than charcoalled bone. Yet he remained, his soul stubbornly holding on as long as there was still a body to hold on to. She knew what she had to do.   
  
She grabbed the sword of the other twin, and with al the strength she could muster, stabbed it between his ribs. Breaking open the ribcage was not as easy as she'd expected, and she struggled to turn the sword, or use it as a lever, little grunts escaping her lips that sounded increasingly mad and desperate. Finally, she had wrenched a hole large enough to put her hand through. Her fingers closed around the heart, and she ripped it free. Slowly, the light in the twin's eyes faded, then died.   
  
She held the heart in both hands and closed her eyes, trying to calm her frenzied thoughts. A giggle was crawling around in her stomach, fighting to get free. She was exhausted, and hungry, and she knew that she could easily lose herself in hysterics, if she would alow it. She struggled to maintain control; she had no idea what she would do if she let a bloodfever take her now, and she did not want to know. Just then, the door opened.   
  
_Kain!_   
  
But it wasn't Kain. It was one of his servants, a tall and brawny man who did not immediately spot her as she was in the shadow of one of the broad pillars. He mumbled to himself.   
  
"God damned mess." He tapped his foot against one of the bodies, which caused the skin to flake off, leaving a dark wound with fraying edges. He looked around. Soon enough his eyes found Adoile, who had not moved. "What are you doing here?" he demanded, more surprised than angered.   
  
"Paying my last respects," Adoile said, too weary to be afraid. He would kill her now, or capture her, and present her as a trophy to his Lord. Either way, she didn't care anymore. She could try to run, but what was the point? Where was she going?   
  
But he did not kill her. Perhaps he, too, had seen enough of death. "Get out," he hissed, and she left, the massive, empty hallways echoing behind her with the shuffle of her footsteps.

* * *

Author's Notes!  
  
I'm not sure about this. This story feels like a drab and ill-fitting dress prettied by gold wire, which doesn't conceal it's basic lack of quality. Hmmm... Tell me if you agree with this analysis. Or tell me anything else, really.  
  
Questions: (Please thank you for answering very much bows)  
  
Who do you feel for most in this chapter? Adoile? Kainsken? The twins? Rainas? Too many characters!  
Does it make sense that she goes a little mad?  
Does it make sense that they burn the bodies of their dead, or did that jar with what you know of Nosgoth's vampires? My boyfriend thinks it jars, I'm not sure.  
  
Reviewer Responses:  
  
Varyssa: I was counting _everyone_. Remember, the entire clan has to go. Still taking bets on that cookie contest...  
  
Smoke: It is a bit short, yeah, originally this way tacked to the previous chapter as one big one. Felt it was better to separate them. Baldwin was never very good with a sword. And he's up against Kain. I mean, you know... Have you seen him in Defiance?  
  
I was afraid the 'Raziel' at the end might seem pathetic. Glad to see you both like it. I think I like it too. 


	9. The Regent

AN UPSTART INHERITANCE: IX -- THE REGENT   
  
The secretaire faced the wall opposite the door, and the man writing at it felt intermittently compelled to look over his shoulder. It was almost as if the room itself had conspired to make him ill at ease. Its careless affluence humbled him, and there seemed to be a lingering presence here, more subtle than a smell but almost that. This in itself would have been enough to set his nerves on edge. These were not his rooms. He was here only because the books were here, a shelf full of leather bound volumes, one for each of the past fifty years, and a hefty stack of loose sheets for this year. He tried to study them, tried to analyse the population numbers and one-line reports documented here. Over a year ago, the city of Darheim was destroyed. It had been their largest city, and there was nothing left now. The other settlements groaned under the weight of the Razelim's demands for blood, and the stock of bottled in the cellars was slowly but surely diminishing.   
  
Harald sighed, and pushed the dry stack of paper away from him. None of that truly mattered, unless he could come to an understanding with Lord Kain. Harald had sent word to the Sanctuary, repeatedly, but there had been no answer. News reached them of the failed assassination attempt, and he sent his knight Sophia to request an audience. Three nights had passed before Kain answered, and the reply was cold. Freezing cold. Harald was to stay where he was; Kain would pay him a visit soon to discuss the situation. Since then, two weeks had passed. Two weeks of increasing disquiet inside the castle, and nothing but sullen silence from the world without. The guards and courtiers at the Sanctuary had been sent back to Darstein, letters to the clan Lords went unanswered, visits were refused. The Razelim were cut off from the rest of Nosgoth; no one would consort with them as long as their status remained unclear. And Lord Kain made no haste to clarify the situation. This terrible uncertainty, the knowledge that everything he did, every decision he made, was essentially meaningless as all still hung in the balance -- it had kept Harald up for three days now.   
  
The lasting silence was not just gnawing away at his composure; the entire clan was short tempered. There was distrust and resentment brewing; their quarters were too small for all the Razelim to live comfortably. Harald dared not send anyone away; he might need every man he had, soon. He guarded a strict discipline, but it was proving difficult to remain control. The prisoner cells held more and more vampires, punished for a transgression or simply too crazed to be allowed to roam freely. Morale was low, nerves were fraying and he was facing down an increasing amount of criticism. He sighed deeply and rested his head on the desk. Perhaps if would help if he could just close his eyes for a short while, if he could just rest, he would feel more able to deal with these problems...   
  
The door behind him burst open and he was up from his chair immediately, his hand at his sword, his heart hammering loudly in his chest.   
  
"Sorry, sir," his soldier grumbled. He and another dragged in a small, dingy figure. "We thought you should see this." They dropped the creature onto the blood-red carpet, and it just sat there, knelt, dirty hair in front of its face. Harald looked at his men, awaiting an explanation.   
  
"This," the soldier said with some gravity, "is the murderer of Daskton."   
  
Harald looked at the black-clad, beaten down figure. "Is this true?" he demanded. "Are you the one that has been preying on the people of Daskton these past weeks? Who are you?"   
  
Slowly, the vampire raised its head to look at him. Through the dirt-caked, oily strands of hair he could see two bright, angry eyes, and under the grime he finally made out the fine features of a familiar face.   
  
"Adoile!"   
  
The two soldiers grinned uneasily and nodded. Adoile did not speak. She merely stared at Harald, an angry, accusing stare.   
  
"We thought you dead," Harald told her. "How did you escape? Where have you been?"   
  
She made no answer.   
  
"Have you just been wandering around? Were you there when Axel was executed?"   
  
Her lips curled into a snarl, but still she would not speak.   
  
Harald growled and said angrily, "Have you even still got your wits, or has madness taken you completely?"   
  
She bowed her head again, defeated, but still stoically silent.   
  
Harald sighed. "Please," he gestured to his men, "leave us." They glanced at each other and left, closing the door behind them.   
  
"Adoile," he said gently, and reached out a hand to help her up. "Please, stand. You need not kneel to me."   
  
She stood up, without his proffered aid, and fixed him with a quizzical stare. He knew what she saw: a usurper, a egotist profiting from the demise of her beloved Raziel. She was not the only one to reason thus.   
  
"Please, sister," he said, "don't look at me that way. I am not trying to take Lord Raziel's place --"   
  
"No?" she interrupted him. "You seem to be getting quite comfortable here."   
  
He shook his head, sadly. "I am only here to look at the books. I go to my own quarters to rest, as I always did. Look," he gestured at the door that led to the Lord's inner chamber. "I've not touched anything."   
  
She hesitated.   
  
"Go, look," he repeated, eager to disprove her suspicions.   
  
She opened the door, and looked inside. It was all there, exactly as she'd left it: the heavy fourposter with the red satin sheets tight and spotless, the side table with two books and a clean, empty cup, the glass case with ancient artifacts, and on the bed his soft grey robe and kid leather boots, laid out for him, for he would surely wish to put on something more comfortable when he came back...   
  
"You're... bookkeeping?" she asked. Her voice was tight, but there were no tears. He smiled approvingly. She had come a long way from the naive and weak serving girl she had been when he first met her.   
  
"Yes, sister," he said, leading her back into the reception room, "someone has to. Our herd is not what it once was. I have to make sure I can still feed my people."   
  
"_Your_ people?" she said indignantly. "So you _are_ the new clan leader?"   
  
"I am trying to lead the clan, yes," he said impatiently. "Lord Raziel is dead, Adoile, but his children remain. Someone has to lead them, or they are utterly lost. I am simply doing what I believe is my duty."   
  
She frowned at him from behind her curtain of filthy hair, and he continued, compelled somehow to explain himself to her, to justify his actions to the one who had stood up and called for vengeance.   
  
"Everything I do I do in his honour, Adoile. How can we keep his memory alive unless his clan is alive and intact? The house of Raziel is in chaos, they need a strong leader, esoecially now." The words were painfully familiar to him. He sighed. "Now, tell me what happened. Why do you still live?"   
  
"Because Axel asked me to," she said blankly. "I was not there when they attacked, though I saw the aftermath. They were slain by the Reaver, all except for Axel. Melchiah was arrested, and executed at the same time, I imagine. I fled. I've been sleeping in a farmer's loft in Daskton since then." She was silent; this was all there was to her tale. She was staring at one of the paintings on the wall; it was a portrait of Raziel, standing tall and proud on top of the castle wall, looking out over his lands.   
  
"Lord Melchiah isn't dead," Harald informed her, "only badly wounded. He was called, apparently, to witness the execution of -- " he hesitated, swallowing the words he now normally used to refer to his late brother, "-- of Axel. Kain knew of his involvement, and he was punished, but he remains alive. Galen wrote to me, Lord Melchiah has sustained serious burns over his entire body and is in an enforced sleep, but he will recover."   
  
"Did Kain fire one of his flashbolts at him?"   
  
Harald frowned. He had heard of the artifact. Some kind of explosive, according to Galen. "It would appear so, yes," he said stiffly. "And you ought to refer to him as _Lord Kain_."   
  
She snarled. "Lord Kain?" she repeated. "After what he did? I'm sure you were all too eager to kiss his boot. Does he acknowledge you as the new clan leader?"   
  
"Whether you approve of this or not, Adoile, Kain is still the Lord of Nosgoth, and your emperor." For the first time, anger rang through in his voice. His patience was starting to run out. "There is nothing you or I can do to change that fact and it is blasphemy to even wish it were otherwise!"   
  
She glared at him, undaunted. It fuelled his anger further.   
  
"Now," he said, "Lord Kain will visit here soon, to discuss our future, and there are two possible ways for you to meet him. On your knees as the rest of us, to swear your allegiance to your Lord, or as the last of the conspiritors for him to kill. You'll be just another pointless death!"   
  
She looked away from his flaming eyes, her hair falling in front of dirt-streaked face. Harald realised he was grinding his teeth together. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to contain his anger and frustration.   
  
"So I am your prisoner now," she said in a low voice.   
  
"No," he said, in control again, "not unless you want to be. I only want you to come back to us."   
  
She made no reply, stubbornly staring at the floor.   
  
"Adoile," he pleaded, "can you not see that this is the only way? What choice do you have now? What reason do you have to throw your life away -- the life _he_ gave you!" He shook his head. "Don't squander his gift." Cynically, he commended himself for his skillful word-twists. There was little honour in this, but in truth, he did not want her to die. She had belonged to Raziel. Like these rooms, he wanted her to remain, as a memory. Too much had been lost forever.   
  
"Am I not your brother?" he asked and laid a hand on her shoulder. She looked up. "Come, sister, all is not lost. _We_ still remain."   
  
Tears were in her eyes, and her mouth was pressed into a tight line. Clearly, she was trying not to cry.   
  
"Live," he said. "For his sake."   
  
This was too much. Heavy, red-tinted tears ran down her grimy cheeks, and she embraced him suddenly, pressing her head against his chest. He closed his arms around her, ignoring the smell of filth and rain in her hair, and held her tightly for a long while.

* * *

Author's Notes  
  
It was about time I updated this. Not a very exciting chapter, I'm afraid, but necessary.  
  
Ah, the angst! This story is starting to draw close to the grim conclusion. Coming up next: Kain's visit. Will he be in a good mood?  
  
Reviewer replies:  
  
Varyssa: Thanks as always for reviewing and for answering my questions, it's actually really valuable to me.  
  
Dark Dragon: Your mild praise is a true joy to me, sir. _bows_ Please come again.  
  
The rest: Where are you all? I feel lonely. _whimper_ Don't make me do this on my own! 


	10. Sanchenna

AN UPSTART INHERITANCE: X -- SANCHENNA  
  
Sanchenna slipped his fingertips down the breastplate, admiring the white-laquered metal, new and unscratched. The young acolyte knelt before him to put on his shinguards, of the same pristine white quality. He glanced in the mirror again. Dark leather and white, but all was dominated by the rich, flowing cape of sea-green, the clan symbol outlined sharply in the centre. The honour guard. Not since he was first embraced into the clan had the world felt so unreal.  
  
He could remember it clearly, how he knelt to his new master, swearing an ancient oath of devotion and servitude. The hall had been filled with delighted faces, mortals and vampires alike, calling 'Sanchenna' like it was a cry of celebration. He had feared they were mocking him. He learned only much later that this was the normal ceremony to welcome a new member to the clan, that in this house, even the youngest fledgling was a God.  
  
The mortal girl stood back, like a painter admiring her work. She nodded approvingly.  
  
"Where's my..." he absentmindedly traced a slim band around his throat with his fingers, "torque?"  
  
She retrieved it from a small box and placed it around his neck, a thin ring of polished steel, with a clear, deep green stone set in it. It had belonged to one of the first Turelim he killed, defending the village of Fiveham. He nearly died that night, but his men held the village, and he recovered. From that time onwards, no one called him 'the rat' anymore, or even 'the turncoat'. They called him Sanchenna.  
  
"Sanchenna,"  
  
He turned, slightly flustered. He would recognise that voice anywhere.  
  
"Are you ready?" Zephon asked, an approving eye wandering over Sanchenna's figure.  
  
He nodded, and Zephon walked up to him. The acolyte knelt, her eyes closed, her head tilted slightly back as if basking in His presence. Zephon adusted Sanchenna's cape, and pulled his breastplate down slightly with a little jerk.  
  
"Perfect." He winked. He was dressed in his ceremonial armour, the uniform only he and his brothers wore; leather trousers laced up over the lower abdomen, the chest bare under large, asymmetrical epaulieres. An arm-length of cape cascaded down from his right shoulder, imprinted with his name sigil. "Are you worried?" he asked.  
  
"No," Sanchenna answered. He wasn't worried, he was just... ill at ease. The world seemed like a foreign place, as if his mind had trouble accepting the recent turn of events.  
  
"Good," Zephon smiled, "there's no reason to be worried. You will be there as my honour-guard, they have no grounds to command you, or challenge you."  
  
Sanchenna nodded.  
  
"You aren't one of them anymore, you're one of mine," Zephon insisted. His green-golden eyes sparked with ferocity. "You are not _Sonny_ anymore." His face broke into a little smile. He took pride in his adopted son; the fact that he had chosen to serve him rather than Kain's firstborn was an endless source of delight to him. Sanchenna knew this, and was not above pandering to it.  
  
"No, I'm not," he whispered. "I am Sanchenna, of clan Zephon. Defender of the Herd."  
  
"That's right." Zephon leaned in close. "Don't disappoint me, my Defender," he whispered.  
  
"Have I yet?" Sanchenna asked frankly.  
  
Zephon smiled broadly. "No. In fact, you have exceeded everyone's expectations. Even mine." He grabbed hold of Sanchenna's hands and spread his arms. "Look at you," he said in the manner of a doting mother. "You're a picture of nobility. Your return will be a triumph!"  
  
Sanchenna laughed and nodded. He had rarely seen such joy in his master's eyes. When not in his role as the benevolent Lord of Mercy, Zephon generally looked like he was on the verge of a bloodfever -- or in the middle of one. But something inside him shrunk as he remembered why his master was in such a good mood.  
  
"If only _he_ could see you now," Zephon said with a sly smile.  
  
Sanchenna's smile wavered, in spite of his determination not to let Zephon know. The doubts in his heart must remain hidden. He felt he was being tested.  
  
"Do you mourn his passing?"  
  
"No," he answered blankly. "He cared not a whit about me. Why should I care for him?" It was true, and yet, to think, Lord Raziel...  
  
"Good," Zephon purred. "And your former clan?"  
  
"That band of traitors got what they deserved. Actually, no, death was too good for them. As for the rest..." he hesitated, afraid he might overplaying his hand. "They're a liability, as you said. Lord Kain is wise to put them in their place."  
  
Zephon nodded, a grim sneer on his face. "The Razelim have all the strength and ferocity of a wild animal. Now that they've had their head removed they have all the stupidity of one, too. Kain will establish a new leader, one with the kind of understanding that is needed to keep those wounded beasts in check."  
  
Sanchenna chuckled. Zephon's analogy was unkind, but not, perhaps, undeserved. He had seen for himself the howling madness his former kinsmen could descend to under pressure.  
  
Zephon grinned at him. "Good boy..." Playfully, he tussled his hair with his claws, and Sanchenna pushed him away, laughing. He smiled fondly at his master, but he felt that smile fade as soon as Zephon turned his back and led him out into the hall. Although he thought of himself as a child of Zephon now, he could not escape a sense of guilt, a sense that he should have been there. Not for Raziel, but for his clan.  
  
He snarled in annoyance at his own thoughts as they descended into the great hall, where some thirty Zephonim, dressed in the same uniform as Sanchenna, were awaiting their Lord. _His clan._ After twenty-five years in Zephon's service, that still meant the Razelim.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
  
You should remember this guy, if not, read 'The Temptations of Sonny'. The end is nigh, only three chapters to go. Next chapter, people will start dying. So, yeah, I guess this is kind of a calm before the storm...  
  
Reviewer responses:  
  
Good to know you're still out there. :)  
  
Smoke: I suppose it is a symbol, yeah. It's just part of how the whole thing is falling apart, the death of Nosgoth. Kain knew it is Melchiah's destiny to help make Raziel stronger. One little explosion is not going to change that. I might write the scene where Melchiah is punished at some point, basically, Kain doesn't fire but _throws_ the bolt. Melchiah's wound will never heal, his increasingly desperate attempts to fix himself up are what triggers the grotesque mutations. I might write Melchiah's story, which would run parallel to this and continue on, but I probably won't, so I'm just telling you now.  
  
Schuldig: glad you're back. :) I don't think I could ever update fast enough to satisfy your curiosity, but I'll try not to leave it too long. So here's chapter ten. More suspense, yay! Don't worry, the excrement will hit the fan in the next chapter and following. Kain will not be very nice, I fear.  
  
Glad you like the swampspeak. I'm Dutch, and although my German is not what it could be, I know a word here and there, and the general similarities between our languages do the rest.  
  
Varyssa, glad you're still enjoying it. Next chapter should not be long. 


	11. The Lord

AN UPSTART INHERITANCE: XI -- THE LORD   
  
Night had fallen slowly and heavily. The days were stifling and the nights were warm, even now, in the late summer. Over the crest of the hill in the distance a dark carpet advanced slowly, a carpet of men and spears and banners. There seemed to be no end to them, the dark mass spotted with torches, the flanks spreading out and around. They were moving to surround the keep. Harald arrived on the wall and took in the view with a grim expression on his face. Suddenly, there was a heavy grinding sound from below.   
  
"Did you order the gate to be closed?" Harald asked his younger brother, Anders.   
  
"I'm sorry? Did you somehow miss that army on the horizon, Harald?"   
  
"Open the gate," Harald bellowed to the watch below. "You should have come to me before you decided to ignore my order," he told Anders. "If it pleases Lord Kain to visit us we will not greet him with a closed gate!"   
  
"If Lord Kain was here to _visit_," Anders shouted, equally angered, "why would he bring enough men to take us all down?"   
  
"To make certain his words would be heard, Anders," Harald snarled. "To quell any budding insubordination."   
  
Anders glowered at him, and they stood square opposite each other for a moment, trying to stare each other down. Below them, the gate ground open again. "Raise the portcullis," a far voice shouted.   
  
"I backed you, brother," Anders said slowly, "because I trusted you to make the right call when it came down to it. Don't make me regret my decision."   
  
Harald sighed, but held Ander's gaze. He was tired of this constant battle. If it wasn't Marius gently picking at the painful spots in his plans, it was Cermak's loud-voiced doubt. And now Anders... "Anders," he said, unashamed to let the weariness slip into his voice, "our clan will survive by the grace of Kain, or not at all. Surely you can see that?"   
  
Anders looked away, at the encroaching mass of armed men.   
  
"I need you at my shoulder, brother," Harald said. "We cannot allow ourselves to panic now. We have to trust our Lord, or else, where will we be?"   
  
Anders nodded briefly.   
  
"Gather everyone inside the courtyard. Everyone. I want every soul down there, no exceptions, and keep the gate clear."   
  
Anders smiled grimly. "Yes, sir."   
  


...

  
  
And so they were all there, the entire clan, fledglings and elders pressed together in the courtyard, gathered on the stairs and the raised dais, up in the high arched alcoves, all facing the open gate, and the darkness that lay beyond it. Adoile was among them, hidden in the crowd behind a tall, armed warrior. She felt sickened and afraid; something was very wrong.   
  
On the platform between the floor and the stage was Harald, flanked by Sophia, Anders, Marius and Cermak. They waited. When Kain strode through the gate a silence descended that was almost tangible. Four of the clan leaders, dressed in their ceremonial armour, followed in his wake, and behind them were their warriors, armed, their eyes menacing and alert. Only Melchiah, who everyone knew to be wounded, was missing. Harald started down the stairs as soon as Kain appeared, and stopped at a respectful distance from their Lord. For a heartbeat, they stood still opposite each other, then Harald knelt, his head bowed, his hands on the floor. The captains copied him, and then there was a low rumble as the entire clan sank to its knees.   
  
Kain looked around. Not a single man was standing, not a single man looked up to meet his eyes. The corners of his mouth twisted in disgust.   
  
"You hypocrites!" he growled. "How can you kneel to me when I know you all wish me dead!"   
  
Harald got to his feet, his head still bowed.   
  
"You are wise to avert your eyes," Kain said, a touch of irony in his voice, "for I would see the hatred that lies within them."   
  
The four flanking Harald slowly got up too, all avoided looking up. There was a click, and an indefinable hum as Kain drew the Soul Reaver. Harald reminded himself to breathe. Dumah and Turel, standing behind Kain on either side, exchanged a glance. Zephon grinned widely, nervously.   
  
But Kain turned the sword around and offered it, hilt first, to the new leader of the Razelim.   
  
"Here," he said, "take it. This is your chance to avenge you master. I know it is what you want. I can hear your very soul cry out for retribution."   
  
Harald's eyes fell on the small skull fixed into the guard. He stared right into the black, empty hollows of its eyes. He did not stir. He would not fall for this trick.   
  
"No?" Kain asked, almost amused. "You then, you will not refuse this opportunity?" He offered the blade to Marius, stood on Harald's left. "Take it," Kain insisted. "Strike me down!"   
  
Marius did not move.   
  
"And you, will you try me?" he said, moving down the line to Sophia. "Will any of you try? Do any of you mongrels have the heart?" he thundered. But Sophia would not touch the blade either, and Kain lowered it, a disappointed snarl on his face. There was a flash of motion and a sudden shriek, and in the next instant, Sophia was skewered on the waved blade of the Soul Reaver. A soul-wrenching screech rang out as he pulled it out, and the blade now glowed with an unnatural, blue aura. Sophia lay on the floor, her body broken and bloodless. Kain stalked back, past Marius. Harald now met his eye, but said nothing, gave no protest. He had known Kain would demand offers. Another unholy scream resounded as the blade sought Marius' beating heart and destroyed it, Marius' age-old soul ripped from its moorings and consumed by the blade.   
  
There was a disturbance to Harald's right, voices called their captain's name, and the zing of a sword sliding free from its scabbard. Harald turned his head and barked, "Gareth!" Marius' deputy halted, his arms were grabbed by hands from the crowd. Kain turned to look as well. The man's mouth was set firmly, his sword as drawn, but lowered. Kain turned back to Harald.   
  
"You make this too easy, Razelim," Kain growled, and with a devilishly quick swipe he took off Cermak's head. Anders jumped back from the second half of the swing, but was not in time to put up a defence for the follow-through, and Kain impaled him effortlessly, his body momentarily shaking with pain and shock, and then slipping lifelessly to the floor.   
  
Kain turned back to Harald, slowly, and only now could Harald read those impassive, yellow eyes. Only now did he realise how they had all been betrayed. Kain had come here to slaughter them, he had never meant to do anything less. And he had received him with open arms. His mouth opened wide and the call "Fight!" just made it out of his lungs before he, too, felt the Reaver's voracious appetite, and his soulless body slapped to the floor at Kain's feet.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
  
What to say, really. It doesn't get better from now on. Please let me know:  
  
1) if the Reaver is scary enough,  
2) if the motivation of ANY of these characters confuses you. ie. do you get why they do what they do? This of course, is crucial, and if there's a problem I need to know.  
  
Reviewer replies:  
  
Schuldig: yes, Zephon's there. Got a fairly big part, actually. Comparatively. Please note, the ending of _The Temptation of Sonny_ was changed some days after I first put it up, because I figured it would be more interesting if he did turn sides. Reread the ending if you wanna see how he comes to his decision.  
  
Ardeth Silvereni: I'm glad you're enjoying it. I can safely say, without 'spoiling' anything, that neither Adoile nor Sanchenna will fare very well. Indeed, Sanchenna would fail to fit in with the Zephonim, eventually.  
  
Varyssa: You, too, reread the ending of _ temptation_ to see why he chose to serve Zephon. Git? Well, I guess so. Raziel was the bigger git though, by far!

* * *

ANNOUNCEMENT:  
  
The reason my update speed has slowed somewhat is that a new project is seeping my time. I'm very exited about it, it's not to do with Legacy of Kain, but I wanted to share anyway.  
  
It's a comic, called Amaranth. I've kept a webcomic for a few years called GothBoy, but since that ended, I've been looking for something new. Amaranth is the story of a young woman in our age, who finds herself drawn into a sinister and magical world, presided over by a cruel and beautiful creature who holds the key to her very soul.  
  
Wow, fear the sales pitch! I just made that up on the fly as well. Anyway, I'm not ashamed to admit to _you_ that Lord Rosa, main antagonist extra-ordinaire, is basically Raziel. He's a different type of creature and it's a different world, but I think you'll recognise him none the less. I fear neither Eidos nor their lawyers though, as he's nothing like the Raziel from the games, just everything like my Lieutenant Raziel, so I'm plagiarising no one but myself.  
  
Er, so yeah. If you enjoyed reading this lot, I think you will enjoy 'Amaranth' when I get it out (drawing a comic is a lot more work than writing a story, so it will take a while). See what's going on at the Amaranth webpage, reached through www.williehewes.tk. If you want an email when I get the first issue up, let me know, because, as a warning, _that will be some time!_  
  
I apologise for this blatant plug. But as I said, I'm very exited. I really enjoyed writing fanfic, and in a way I think I needed it to kick my muse into gear again, but it feels good to work with my own characters again, and let my imagination soar unfettered. See, it gets me all poetic! Next update hopefully soon, but not making promises. My life is very hectic at the moment. I do however, solemnly swear that I will finish this story, unless death takes me first. Don't worry, I'm not leaving this one hanging. 


	12. Slaughter

Author's Notes: Well, this is it. To make up for the long wait, here are the last two chapters in one go. Thirteen's really short anyway, so... Yeah. By the way, this is well bloody. Just in case there was any room for doubt there.  
  
Review Replies:  
  
Smoke: I know Turel has often been accused of having sea-green as his colour, but on my screen he is quite definately dark, forest green. Zephon wears a cape of torquis, or sea-green, and that's the colour I've gone with. So there.  
Basically, the intimation is that everyone's been sent 'home' as it were, and that all the Razelim are in one place. It's kind of a trick, to make it neat, you know? But, yeah, whoever would be left would die soon enough, I think.  
  
Semdai: thank you. _bows_ I tend to go for Razelim, but as far as I know, there's no official spelling.  
  
Schuldig: I don't blame you for missing Sonny's rewritten ending. There's a little more of Zephon in this and the next chapter, so enjoy. (He is not a nice man.)  
  
Ardeth Sivereni: I like what you said about Kain. Yes, he is really really offering them the chance to take revenge, but they won't hear of it.  
  
"Your lifespan is a flicker compared to the mass of doubt and regret that I have born since Mortanius first turned me from the light."  
  
Don't you just love that messed up little paradox of conflicting loyalties, vengeance and innocence dying? Yah!  
  
Pinky: you were expecting something else from Kain, perhaps?  
  
Varyssa: Don't worry, it's not quite over yet. I'm still writing Hengest and Horsa, and there's a tiny little more to come before I can say goodbye to LOK fanfiction with a clear heart. And even then, I might come back to this, it's pretty captivating stuff, you know?  
  
And now, without further ado, the end of 'An Upstart Inheritance'. And the end of the Razelim, but that's should be no surprise by now.  
  
...

* * *

AN UPSTART INHERITANCE, XII: SLAUGHTER  
  
Sanchenna's breath caught in his throat when he saw his former captain impaled on the Soul Reaver. He had always held Marius in the deepest respect. He was one of Raziel's best, over 900 years old, and he had always seemed indestructible to his young followers. But then, had Raziel not seemed to be beyond death, too?  
  
"Fight!" Harald bellowed, and then died. Sanchenna watched, frozen, as the entire Razelim clan fell on Kain like a flock of carrion-birds descending on a fresh corpse. They might as well have been flies.  
  
Kain could not be touched, his Soul Reaver claimed the life of every man it crossed, and Kain was so powerful he slashed right through the defences of even their strongest warriors. Dumah and Turel flanked him, keeping their Lord from being swarmed. They fought without mercy; Dumah used his thin-bladed polearm to take off the heads of the Razelim soldiers before he was even within their reach. Turel had not bothered to bring a weapon, but his claws rent through flesh with ease, and he ripped his opponents apart with an animalistic eagerness. Sanchenna felt as if his skin was on fire. He knew the men they were tearing apart. They used to be his brothers.  
  
His new companions, dressed in white and sea-green, rushed past him into the fray, roaring their bloodlust. The courtyard was packed so tightly there was barely any room to fight. The Razelim were forced back, away from the gate, their attackers stumbling over the slain, led by their incensed leader, Zephon.  
  
A group of Razelim tried to fight their way to the gate, to escape. Cowin led them, in so far as any could lead in this chaos. His efforts were wasted, the gate was held by the Rahabim, who were more than happy to hack their way into Razelim flesh. They didn't stand a chance. Sanchenna stood motionless in the centre of the courtyard, surrounded by the fallen, his pristine armour gleaming in the torchlight. He could not even bring himself to draw his sword -- he didn't know who to fight.  
  
Suddenly, one of Raziel's men emerged from the crowd and rushed at him. He had been wounded, his face was covered in blood. Sanchenna put an arm up in defence, but the man stopped dead in his tracks.  
  
"Sonny?"  
  
Sonny recognised him only by his strawy hair. _God,_ he thought, _little Nort._ Nort had been his brother, one of Marius' men. He was older than Sonny, but not as brave and Sonny had often looked out for him in the field. _Sonny_ had.  
  
Warm, dark blood splashed in his face and suddenly he was staring into the narrowed eyes of Yuriah, Zephon's son, whose sword had just cut clean through Nort's neck. For a moment, Sanchenna thought he was going to die, but Yuriah merely grinned widely at him.  
  
"Sweet." He turned back to the fray, and Sanchenna found himself stumbling a step back. Nort's life blood was running down his face, soiling his white breastplate. He was biting his lip, one fang digging into the delicate skin. He tasted his own blood, and it slowly filtered through to him that that was what Yuriah had meant. _Sweet._ This genocide was "sweet" to him, a pleasant diversion -- a feast.  
  
The number of fighting Razelim was decreasing rapidly. Over the general roar and clank of battle the unholy shrieks of the Soul Reaver almost blended together, as Lord Kain cut a swath through the remaining, fleeing warriors. Sanchenna stared up at the dais. The courtyard, meant as a defensive feature, had become their deathtrap. There were only two mansized doors out deeper into the castle, and there were too many of them to get away. They were doomed.  
  
Sanchenna found himself gasping for breath, and he realised he was crying.  
  


---

  
  
"Fight!" she heard Harald shout, and again, that horrible, unearthly shriek. Adoile was jostled and almost trampled underfoot as the army rushed forward, at Kain. Kain, their Lord and Master, their God. She wrestled through the crowd in the opposite direction; away. Away from this nightmare, this orgy of blood and stolen souls. She was one of the first to escape the courtyard.  
  
She ran through the keep, along with a few others who lacked the ability or the intention to follow Harald's last order. They rushed to the great hall on the west side. There was a staircase there, and up those stairs there were large, gothic windows looking out at the cemetery in the west. Who knew, perhaps they could stay hidden in those mausolea, escape their doom a little longer, perhaps even outlast Kain's rage. She ran up the stairs, but stopped at the balustrade. In the dark, not far beyond the walls of the castle, was a line of vampire warriors, at least two deep, their spears and gleaming armour lit by the torches they carried. A strange, deep noise rang out from their shadowy ranks, and it took her a short time to realise they were singing. The tune was slow and heavy, and she could not make out the words from that many mouths. It sounded like a dirge.  
  
Someone was shouting, one of her clansmen. Damon tried to pull them together, to make some attempt at an organised attack. She turned and ran, there was nothing she could do. Nothing that could be done. She ran through the dark and empty corridors of the upper floor, to his rooms.  
  
She locked the door behind her and looked around. There was nothing here to reflect the horrors that were taking place outside. Papers lay stacked on the writing-desk, the blood-cabinet stood still and unbreached in the corner, Raziel's portrait looked out at a room that was empty and peaceful but for her, a proud smile on its face.  
  
"I'm sorry..." she whispered to it. "I'm sorry." She took a few paces into the room, then sank to her knees on the lush red carped she had swept and brushed so often in happier times. Everything was ending now. All would have to die -- every last trace of his existence wiped from the world.  
  
She closed her hand around his signet ring, and wondered how long she'd have to wait.  
  


---

  
  
Rahab made his way through the castle by ear. Running feet, whispered curses, desperately beating hearts. The ones that had escaped the general doom so far, by chance or by craft, he found them guided by his senses and his instinct, and he ran them through. Some begged, some tried to run, some tried to fight. He did not care, he found them and he killed them as he had been ordered.  
  
"Get them!"  
  
It was but a small number that had escaped the courtyard, but Kain clearly wanted none to survive. Sometime early on in the battle, if that was what it was, Rahab's thoughts had stopped. His mind was a curious blank as he reached out with his mind to slide away the bar on the steel doors to the crypt and kicked them open. Not the whisper of a thought as they attacked, their bravery born out of despair, and he cut them down. He knelt over their bleeding bodies to dig out the hearts of the ones that yet had their heads. Their flesh was tough, blood stained his hands up to the elbow, but he did it without thought and turned back up the dark steps when it was done.  
  
The keep was quiet, like his mind, the noise from the courtyard did not penetrate. Or perhaps it was already over. A small group of Zephonim stood aside for him in the bloodstained corridor. They grinned widely, greedily. Rahab's mental composure wavered only slightly.  
  
He made his way up the curious flight of stairs that snaked around the central tower and crossed the walkway into the most lavishly decorated part of Raziel's castle. There were more of them, here. He knew without knowing how.  
  
He halted at the door to his brother's private chambers. _In there,_ he sensed. He knew the rooms that lay beyond this door well; how often had he not been there, drinking, arguing, playing chess. Raziel had been his match at chess...  
  
He forced these thoughts back and shouldered open the door. There was only a girl, kneeling in the middle of the floor. She turned round, startled, her luscious curls dancing around her fine face. Raziel's own, he knew. His brother had raised her because of her pretty face, he had admitted to that at last, laughing at Rahab's taunts. Rahab looked at her. He hesitated.  
  
"Oh. It's you..." she said, sounding almost relieved. Rahab glanced around. These rooms looked very much the way they did when he last saw them. What was it they had argued over then? The girl was holding something out to him. He took it, his gored claws brushing the palm of her hand.  
  
Raziel's signet ring. He studied its face, an insuppressible chill now running through his body. It was a masterpiece of steelworking, Raziel's namesign rendered perfectly to the last, razorsharp detail. Tears were in his eyes when he closed his hand around it and looked up at the girl, who had shut her eyes and bared her chest for him.  
  
He swallowed. She had the face of an angel, a face her sire had fallen for, and would he be the one to destroy it? He remembered Raziel's cry as he sailed down on those useless, broken wings, and he wished nothing more than to turn away, to leave this nightmare, to seclude himself in the darkest place he could find and never to come out again.  
  
She opened her eyes and growled. "Do it!"  
  
And he did.  
  


---

  
  
Just as Rahab plunged his blood-slicked steel into Adoile's breast, Zephon turned to Sanchenna, and smiled. Sanchenna was still standing, alone, in the centre of the courtyard. Zephon and his men had been scouring the floor looking for the last survivors, ripping off their heads and drinking deeply from the fountains of blood. Sanchenna had watched, helpless, feeling sick to his stomach. Behind him, from the circle of Dumahim beyond the gate a victory cry rang out. _For Kain!_ Zephon closed his jaws around Jens's throat and plunged his claws into his chest. Jens died, his blood painting the clan-leader's lips and Zephon turned around, still half-crouched, and flashed a blood-besmirched smile at Sanchenna.  
  
Sanchenna felt his heart speed up. There was nothing left of the fatherly appreciation in Zephon's eyes, only madness lived there now. He took a careful step back, as Zephon raised himself and came at him in a half-crouching run.  
  
"Sonny..." he sang, and crawled over the fallen, headless bodies.  
  
Sanchenna shook his head.  
  
"You're the last, Sonny..."  
  
"No..." Sanchenna croaked through a stifled throat. _I'm Sanchenna,_ he wanted to say, _your servant!_ but all he managed was a high-pitched groan. And when Zephon cleared the last hurdle towards him, bounding over the brittle, black-veined corpse of Rusanna, he turned and ran.  
  
He made towards Yuriah, who was standing by the gate, surrounded by his company. They stared at him impassively. Sanchenna slipped on the nightmarish tapestry of gore covering the flagstones and Zephon fell on him like a screeching bird dropping from the sky. Sanchenna fell forwards into the muck, his face grazing the rough stone. He struggled desperately, managed to turn around and tried to kick Zephon off, but his master pinned him down, his arms forced down to the floor by Zephon's vice-like talons. He looked up into his blood-crazed eyes, and pulled his head down to protect his throat.  
  
"Zephon, no! It's me!" His master's lips split into an obscene grin, his exposed fangs dripping blood onto Sanchenna's face. "I'm not Sonny!"  
  
His plea turned into an inarticulate scream as Zephon snapped his head down and sliced his fangs through the skin on Sanchenna's face.  
  
Yuriah looked on as his sire mauled the last of the Razelim to death, a mildly disgusted sneer on his face.  
  



	13. Kain

AN UPSTART INHERITANCE, XIII -- KAIN   
  
He rematerialised on top of the gatehouse, away from the smell of blood and death. A fresh, cool wind blew in from the west, lifting the red banners to fly proudly, pointlessly. The Soul Reaver was burning brightly in his right hand, and he gave it a knowing sneer before putting it up on his back. He looked down at the remains of clan Raziel, broken and scattered across their own courtyard. A deep sigh rumbled in his chest. The entire affair seemed intensely distasteful now and he turned away from the sight as he would turn away from a drained corpse. He faced the wind and let it blow his hair back. The western sky was black as ink, and he thought of Melchiah cradling his wounds in the crags and tunnels of of his blasted land. It was just as well, it gave him a reason not to be here tonight. Melchiah's loyalty to him only just bested his love of Raziel, if it ever did.   
  
"For Kain!" He turned slowly, his eyes widened with silent outrage. "For Kain!" It rang out again, from all around Darstein castle. It was the Dumahim, who had surrounded the place against any who might escape. They had barely been needed, but still they decried their victory loudly and proud. Kain's sharp eyes picked out Dumah himself, some ways outside the gate, his polearm raised in salute. "For Kain!" It was chilling. Once, eons ago it seemed, the cry had filled him with pride, but now? He snarled, disgusted. Dumah considered _this_ a victory?   
  
A bloodcurdling scream rang up from the courtyard beneath him and he turned around again glancing down. It was Zephon, now devouring his own brood, it seemed. Kain shook his head. Zephon's insanity would only deepen from here, he knew. As Rahab would grow more melancholy and seclude himself more and more, as Melchiah's flesh would finally revolt against its master and turn slowly into a lumbering hulk of barely living meat.   
  
Melchiah, an abomination, Rahab the recluse, and Turel, nothing more than a beast towards the end. He shook his head sadly. They were lost without Raziel. He had been the strong centre of the council, the core that held them all together. Without him, they were doomed to decay and corruption. No, he ought not try to fool himself. That fate would have befallen them with or without his eldest. The slow rot that had infected the land would finally claim its masters as well...   
  
How tempting now to leave this place. To step through that portal and proceed to the time that really mattered: the moment his son would return.   
  
If he did return. For could he be certain that he had not been lied to? Or had perhaps misread the signs? It chilled his heart to think of the many ways that he could fail. Such an enormous risk. The tiniest of chances, and for that minute spark of possibility he had sacrificed his eldest and dearest; Raziel...   
  
The wind picked up, and chased a low layer of clouds past overhead. It revealed another layer, glowing with light from the unseen moon, illuminating the land in a cold and diffuse light. The land of Nosgoth, twisted and mauled by the hand of an artificial fate. Kain clenched his fist. Yes, the chance was slim, but it was a chance, a tiny glimmer of hope in the centuries of barrenness and mounting despair.   
  
He glanced down one more time. Turel seemed to be trying to reason with the blood-crazed Zephon; he was holding him up by the throat and shaking him lightly. Kain chuckled. They would all serve their purpose, in the end. For now, they were of no interest to him. He folded one hand over the other and loosed himself into a cloud of bats. The dimmed moonlight reflected off their leathery wings as they moved away, until they were no more than a glimmer of movement in the darkness of the night. 


End file.
